No Unwounded Soldiers
by sbz
Summary: Or maybe all it meant was that, despite everything that had and hadn't happened, friendships don't die easily. UNFINISHED/ABANDONED.
1. 1

No Unwounded Soldiers

**Disclaimer: **Stargate: SG-1 does not belong to me.

**Summary: **If only sins and blood and burdens could be so easily wiped clean.

--

**HOSPITAL BOMBED, HUNDREDS DEAD**

The stark bold headline was not unusual as of late. So Daniel couldn't even muster a sigh in the face of it. He just placed the paper into its rack next to all the others and ignored their equally depressing proclamations.

He turned to the counter behind him and took his chair at the cash register. As he sipped his coffee he scanned the local paper perfunctorily. His eyes skipped over the jaunty headline that touted _Victory! _There was little worth reading; he turned a page, sipped, turned a page, sipped. When he drained his mug he'd finished with the back page and stood.

The mug went into the sink in the backroom, the paper into the recycle bin, and he headed for the stockroom. There were only a half-dozen new arrivals today that he scanned into the computer and shelved automatically.

When the bell above his door jingled he called out, "Morning, Carl." He shelved the last book between two thick, dusty volumes – _I need to clean_ – and realized Carl hadn't answered.

Daniel stepped around the shelf and hesitated. The man in the doorway was not Carl. "Can I help you?" He forced a note of congeniality into his voice as he studied his customer. He slipped behind the counter, appreciating the barrier between them, and waited.

"Nice store."

"Thank you," Daniel said. He watched his patron finger one of the myriad of foreign papers before he picked one up. "I don't allow browsing of my newspapers."

He dropped it as if burned and turned. "Daniel—"

"What are you doing here, Jack?"

Jack's gaze skittered away and studied the rows of tomes that lined the shelves. He shifted his weight and leaned against the counter. The pose looked unnatural in his dress blues, the shiny silver star on each epaulet further incongruous. The silence dragged and grew heavy until Jack finally shrugged. "Can't I look up an old friend?"

Daniel snorted and shook his head. He moved back between the shelves and reclaimed his book cart. "I have work to do. You should go back to Washington," he said. He pushed the cart towards the storeroom. He felt Jack's presence behind him.

"I _flew _all the way out here to talk to you!"

Daniel spun on his heel and almost brushed Jack's chest. Daniel stepped back abruptly. "Well maybe you should have called first. Ever think of that?"

"Would you have answered?"

"No." Daniel bit it off and turned back to his cart.

"_Daniel_." Jack grabbed his arm and pulled.

He swung around again and glared. "Why today, Jack?" The scar on his friend's temple and hitch in his gait didn't stem Daniel's anger.

"What?"

"You had two years but you showed up _today_." He pointed at the floor to emphasize his point. "Could it have anything to do with a certain headline?"

Jack's jaw firmed and his eyes narrowed. But Daniel knew he was right. "So what if it does?"

Daniel scoffed and shoved his cart into the storeroom. He slammed the door, stalked past Jack to the front, and flipped the _Open _sign to _Closed_. "Just because the war's supposedly 'over' doesn't change anything."

"Yes it does."

He walked by Jack again, headed for the stairs at the back of the bookstore that led to his apartment. "No," he said, "it doesn't." He got to the fourth step before Jack's voice stopped him.

"They're reopening the SGC."

Daniel sighed and dropped his head. _It doesn't change anything_. "You mean they're turning it back into what it was before the war."

Jack's footsteps clicked on the hardwood floor as he advanced. "I didn't come here to fight," he said.

"Fine," Daniel said. He waved a hand in invitation and continued up the stairs.

--

Jack sat on the couch, rigid and uncomfortable, while Daniel steeped tea in the kitchen. The tick of a clock and clinks of china sounded like gunshots. Jack flinched at that analogy and turned his eyes on the apartment.

He recognized almost everything from Daniel's old place, artefacts and knick-knacks and delicate old books with crisp browned pages. It even smelled as he remembered, a bit musty like a library but spicy from potpourri scattered in small ceramic jars painted with colourful designs.

The clink of the tray startled Jack from his thoughts. He pulled his attention to Daniel who sat across the coffee table and poured tea into two cups. Daniel spooned in a dollop of honey, stirred, and leaned back with his cup at his lips, his eyes shuttered and simmering over the rim of his glasses.

The clock ticked.

Jack claimed his cup and copied Daniel's movements out of a lack of anything better to occupy his hands. The tea scalded the roof of his mouth but he took two more sips because everything he'd planned on saying had fled his mind the moment he'd stepped through the door. Maybe the moment he'd laid eyes on the storefront, the sign that declared the building _Jackson's Rare Books _indicating he'd found the right place.

_Tick. Tock. Tick._

"You moved," Jack finally said.

Daniel nodded slowly. "I couldn't afford the lease on the store and the rent at my apartment."

_Tock. Tick. Tock._

"You do good business?"

"Enough," Daniel said.

_Tick. Tock. Tick._

Jack sighed softly and leaned forward. He put his cup on the tray and clasped his hands between his knees. "Listen, Daniel…" He paused to find the words.

"So they're offering you General Hammond's old job?" Daniel pounced on the lull and wrested the conversation away from the topic they both knew to be inevitable.

Jack brought his hands to his lips then put his chin against his knuckles. He nodded. "I'm told I'm on the shortlist," he said.

Daniel refilled his cup and spoke with his eyes averted; maybe it was easier. "And the promotion. Am I supposed to say congratulations?" He glanced up fleetingly then stared back into his tea.

Jack dropped a hand and rubbed his leg absently. He remembered hospitals and explosions and the fine, sweet mist of vaporized blood that hung in the air and took days to fade from skin and clothes and senses. Jack both nodded and shrugged, still as unsure how he felt about it as Daniel. "Better than the alternative," he said.

Daniel nodded and idly turned the cup on its saucer. "I suppose."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Why do you say it like that?"

Daniel's head snapped up. "Like what?"

"With that tone."

"I didn't have a tone."

"_Yes, _you did."

"_No_," Daniel slammed his cup onto the table, "I didn't." He stood and turned sharply then leaned heavily on the windowsill. "Do you really want to do this right now?"

"Yeah," Jack said, "I think I do." He stood and moved around the coffee table.

"Fine," Daniel muttered. He drew in a deep breath and turned. All the anger he'd kept restrained flashed in his eyes. "What the hell's your problem?"

"_My _problem? That's rich, Daniel. I came to try and fix this… _whatever _it is… but you—"

"How the _hell _do you expect to fix _anything _when you don't even know what's wrong!"

"Oh I don't know, I thought that maybe for once you'd tell me the truth."

Daniel flung a hand into the air. "About _what_?"

Jack gestured at the coffee table. "Why don't you just say that you think I should have taken the discharge over the promotion," he said.

"I never thought that."

"The hell you didn't!"

Daniel brushed past Jack with a scoff. "How would you know anything about what I thought? I didn't even know you'd been hurt until three months _after _the fact. It's not like you called me, Jack, it's not like I was _consulted_." He grabbed the tray and whirled. Tea sloshed out of the cups and teapot. "So don't you _dare _put words in my mouth."

"It's not exactly a leap, Daniel. You hated this war from the _second _it started, you hated that we were fighting it—"

"But I never hated the _people _fighting it."

"That's bullshit."

Daniel dropped the tray onto the counter. "No, it's not." His shoulders bunched and when he turned his eyes spat fire. "I'm sorry that I don't believe bombing the living shit out of people is going to get peace for anyone. I'm sorry that I don't see how it's _terrorism _when they do it but _peacekeeping _when we do it."

"It's not peacekeeping!" Jack slammed his fist on the counter. "It's putting the fear of God into them. It's showing them that they can't kill Americans, on American soil, in American embassies and just _get away with it_."

"Right, because killing civilians is really going to win a war!"

"Fear wins wars. And we _did _win."

They fell silent and stared across the chasm that divided them.

Daniel sighed and pulled his hand through his hair. "You didn't even hear me," he said quietly.

"What?" Jack nearly barked it out, his throat tight and dry.

Daniel pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Civilians, Jack, how many civilians have died?"

"It's collateral damage. Regrettable, but necessary."

Daniel laughed, low and mirthless and bitter. "Do you realize how you sound when you say that?"

"That's war, Daniel. And we keep it as contained as we can," Jack said.

"_Right._" Daniel slipped by, back into the sitting room, and pulled a large album off a shelf. "That's the company line." He opened to a page towards the back and motioned Jack forward.

"It's not a _line_, it's the truth," Jack said. He stopped at the table and looked down at the article. He felt his heart speed up.

"This was about a year ago," Daniel said softly. He flipped the page, another article from a different paper. "When we started winning. I don't know what changed but they just started dying."

Jack swallowed. He knew. He'd put his newly minted stars, his voice in the war room, to good use six months prior. All to ensure that they brought to bear the full force of certain technology and resources he knew better than anyone else in the room.

"It's not the same, is it? As cold, distant numbers in a report."

"Don't preach to me, Daniel," Jack said through clenched teeth.

"I'm not. I'm showing you another perspective because you clearly haven't been exposed to them."

"And that's not preaching?"

"Do you _know _what was on the front page of our papers the same day as this?" Daniel pressed the page until his finger turned white. "Super Bowl coverage. Do you know when this showed up?"

Jack turned and dropped his head.

"_Do _you?" Daniel ducked and caught Jack's eyes. "No? Guess what – it never did."

Jack slammed the album closed, narrowly missing Daniel's hand. "This junk could get you into trouble," he said. He headed for the window.

"It's not _junk_. Twelve foreign papers all saying the same thing and you think the problem's with _them_?" He scoffed. "And it already did."

Jack turned. "What?"

Daniel met his gaze and squared his jaw. "I said it already did."

Jack's brow furrowed as he studied the other man. "Is _that _why you have a bug up your ass? Because someone took exception to your precious newspapers?"

Daniel took one sharp step forward. "Freedom of the press, of speech, of thought, of expression. I'm allowed to think and say and read whatever the hell I want and I'm allowed to share it with other people. And those are the rights people like you are ostensibly dying over there to protect so, yeah, Jack, I'm _pissed_ that a bunch of goons practically _raided _my store!"

Jack met Daniel's advance until they were nose to nose. "And I'm _pissed _that a twenty-one year old kid blew up in front of me! They fucking _blew him up_, Daniel, and we couldn't even find the _pieces_. So if we had to lie to keep doing our _jobs _and keep more kids from dying because we knew bleeding hearts like you couldn't handle the truth, well I'll be _damned _if I apologize for that!"

"And you can't see that most of them never gave a flying fuck about us. But now we've killed their children and their siblings and their parents. A thousand families who never had a reason to hate us but we just gave them one. So the bodies and the blood and the vendettas just pile up and all it does is ensure that more people die young!"

They breathed out harshly and stared then turned from each other. Jack returned to the window. Daniel clutched the album to his chest.

The clock ticked.

_Tick._

_Tock._

_Tick._

_Tock._

"I'm sorry you got hurt, Jack," Daniel said into the air.

Jack unclenched his hands from the sill and tore his eyes away from his car, his driver a slight silhouette through the window. He turned and looked at Daniel's back.

"I'm sorry you couldn't go back out there," Daniel continued. And he did sound sincerely sorry. "And I'm sorry people died." He turned and caught Jack's eyes. "But nothing you, or anyone says, will change my mind about the war. Because I'm just as sorry for all the other people who died, too."

Jack leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He drew in a deep breath and felt the remains of his anger quell and quiet. "We can't fix this," he said. "Not today."

Daniel shrugged but he dropped his eyes and that spoke volumes. "I told you, it doesn't change anything."

"I thought…" Jack tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. "I thought now that it was over none of it would matter."

Daniel walked to his shelf and replaced the album. He moved like he felt weary and drained and Jack noticed it for the first time; it was how he felt, too. "I need you to know that it was never you, Jack. I was never mad at _you_ or anyone else who fought for this country."

"I know." He pushed off the wall and moved to the couch to reclaim his jacket. Despite the détente between them he suspected he'd overstayed his welcome.

"I just hate what it did to us," Daniel said, eyes still on the bookshelf. "And the SGC."

Jack swallowed as he buttoned his jacket. He knew what the SGC had really been doing the past eighteen months, unlike Daniel. "Yeah," he said. He cleared his throat and moved to the door. "I'm… gonna go." He pointed to the door.

Daniel shook off his thoughts. "Okay," he said. He offered a weak smile and Jack was struck by the fact that it was the first one to pass either of their lips.

Jack twisted the doorknob but stopped and turned. "Oh," he said. "Do you have Carter's number?"

Daniel blinked. "What?"

"Carter," Jack said. "Her phone number. I haven't… talked to her, either."

"I don't have it. I haven't talked to her since that day."

"You're telling me you haven't seen or heard from her in two years? Daniel, she lives like eight blocks from here," Jack said. He heard a note of irritation in his voice.

Daniel's eyebrows drew together. "_Lived_. Her house went up for sale maybe a week after… everything happened."

"Oh."

"Did you… think she was still at the SGC?"

Jack shrugged. "Well, I figured they'd…" He trailed off and scuffed the floor. _Someone _who was in the know had to have been running operations at the mountain because Jack knew damn well the place hadn't been entirely shut down. He'd just figured someone like Carter made a lot of sense.

"Can't you just get her file?"

Jack looked to the side. "It's classified."

"Even from you?"

"Just because I have stars doesn't mean I suddenly get to know everything, Daniel."

Daniel raised a hand. "Okay…" He left it there.

Jack scowled at the dead end and nodded vaguely. "Right, well… goodbye."

"Bye," Daniel said. He moved to the door as Jack stepped into the hall.

Jack felt eyes on his back all the way down the hallway and stairs. He fought the urge to duck for cover.


	2. Chapter 2

--

The surf pulled insistently at the sand around her feet and swept it into the ocean, erased her footprints as if they'd never been. If only sins and blood and burdens could be so easily wiped clean.

Sam waded in up to her knees, uncaring of the linen plastered to her shins, the spray that splashed soft and cool against her face. She breathed deeply and savoured the salt-tinged air, the gentle breeze that lifted the hair from her neck and lightly kissed her skin.

"Are you going to stand out here all night?"

She inhaled again and held it, counted to ten, eyes closed, the roar of the ocean nothing but white noise in her ears. She spoke when she exhaled, "Maybe."

He shifted, kicked up sand with his movements, and three light clinks sounded. "Okay," he said. Liquid hit glass and he sat, quiet and patient and oh so painfully willing to listen.

Sam turned her attention back to the expanse before her and wondered if maybe she shouldn't just keep on walking. "Do you ever think about it?" The wind carried the quiet query back to him and the _answers _he could give. But he wouldn't wax philosophical.

"About what?"

"The ocean," Sam said. She tilted her head. "Fathomless, endless… the world that must be down there."

"Sam…"

She talked over him and that note that meant he was worrying again. "I wanted to learn to scuba dive, once." She backed off a few steps when a large wave crested up to her hips.

"I remember," he said.

"I bet they don't have wars down there…"

He sighed and a beat later she heard him swallow. He coughed and she finally turned to watch as he rotated the glass in his hand, accusatory eyes locked on the alcohol. "God, what is this?" Mark picked up the bottle and studied the label. "Since when do you drink bourbon?"

Sam splashed out of the ocean and sat in the empty beach chair beside him. She claimed the glass he'd prepared for her and emptied half of it in one long swallow. His gaze landed heavily on her skin, that quiet, wordless, silent and persistent _asking _that hadn't ceased since she'd shown up on his doorstep the night before, out of the blue, and asked him to come with her.

"The day we declared war," Mark said, "I didn't go to work. I couldn't get over the idea that one second you'd be alive and the next you might be dead." He cleared his throat. "And when I couldn't get ahold of you…"

She closed her eyes, the guilt at her silence potent now when before she hadn't been able to spare even a second to think about his feelings. "We weren't allowed to say anything. If I'd called…" She shrugged, drained and refilled her glass in one motion.

"But I would have known you were okay," Mark said.

Sam swirled the bourbon and studiously didn't look at him. If she'd called him – and she'd thought about it, him or Daniel or _someone _not caught up in the madness – she didn't think she would have been able to say nothing. She blinked at the bottom of her glass and reached for the bottle.

"I'm not an idiot, Sam. I think I can guess what they had you doing." He leaned closer and she laughed, a short staccato sound. "I think they had you building weapons. Hell if I know what kind they needed an astrophysicist for but it's the only thing that could put that look in your eye."

She drained her glass in one sustained gulp and that was likely all the confirmation he needed. She wasn't allowed to talk about it and probably wouldn't be able to for the rest of her life.

Mark stayed as he was, leaned in close to her, not touching but enough that she felt his warm breath on her skin, a counterpoint to the cool breeze. He caught her hand when she reached blindly for the bourbon and squeezed. "Tell me what I can do."

Sam looked up and met his eyes for perhaps only the third time since she'd pulled him from his life. Like those other times the lack of censure cut at her but she smiled wanly before she looked away. "You're doing it."

"Okay." He lifted the bottle but paused with it poised in midair. "If you get drunk and pass out you're sleeping in that chair. I'm not hauling you back into the bungalow."

If was only half in jest, she knew. But she didn't think sleep was in her future despite the alcohol. She nodded so he'd pour and then sat back, the glass cradled against her stomach, and he did likewise.

"Just tell me one thing," Mark said. "The Air Force knows where you are, right? You aren't… AWOL or anything?"

Sam smirked at the thought of the small beach resort serving as a hideout from the American military, that they'd absconded to in the middle of the night, and couldn't fault him for wondering. But even in wartime, when the knowledge of what they had her doing meant she spent each morning bent double and retching, she'd been too much the good soldier to dare to refuse her duties, to forsake the uniform, to abandon her post.

"No," Sam said, "I'm not AWOL."

She only wished she'd been that brave.

--

They sat mostly in silence. He made the odd comment and she hardly answered him but he was painfully aware of his sister's sorrowful, contemplative mood and he ached to break it, to make her smile. So he watched the line of bourbon drop lower and lower in the bottle and mused on the irony; she'd never been keen on talking about personal things with him but now, when he thought she wanted to, needed to, she wasn't allowed. He'd never thought, hadn't considered that it was possible to _not _go off to war and still come back broken.

Sam shifted and it broke Mark from his thoughts. He gathered himself and stood, watched as she gained her feet with amazing competency. Either she could hold her liquor far better than he'd thought or this had become a habit.

He felt better the moment she dropped onto the couch and stared at her bare feet that had left sandy trails along the wooden floor. Mark hovered for a moment, overcome with the sensation that he shouldn't leave her alone. He'd ping-ponged from worry to confusion to concern, both at the shock of seeing her and the sparse few things she'd said.

Sam sighed and turned the bourbon on the coffee table. "Go to bed, Mark."

"Are you going to be okay?"

She looked at him, eyes underlined by dark smudges, and his gut clenched again as he wondered if what she'd done would come to light in his lifetime. "Go," she said.

"Okay." He backed off but lingered in the hall. She looked too exhausted to do anything but pass out on the spot. He continued down the hallway on light feet and dropped gratefully into bed.

And woke up what felt like mere moments later. There was a banging and the sun crept across his eyes because he'd forgotten to draw the curtains and his mouth felt gummy. He pulled himself out of bed because he'd never been able to go back to sleep after being awakened.

Mark wandered into the hallway to investigate the banging – it had stopped – but faltered at the sight of Sam, exactly where he'd left her on the couch. The bourbon still sat on the table, empty now, and a cigarette hung from her lips, eight other butts stubbed out in the ashtray. "Since when do you smoke?"

"When are you going to stop asking me that?" She didn't look up from a pad of paper on her lap.

He stepped closer and eyed her bent head. "I'm just… would you look at me?"

Sam sighed and ground the cigarette into the bottom of the ashtray. She met his gaze, eyebrows raised, mild irritation on her face that grew when he remained silent. "What?"

"Christ," he breathed it out softly, "you look like hell." She had before of course, but he'd thought – hoped – that maybe it had been a product of travelling from God knew where and all she needed was some time. But in the light of a new day she looked worse, her eyes bloodshot and black rimmed, and he couldn't just keep quiet and watch her do this to herself.

"Gee, thanks, Mark." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I didn't ask you to come with me so you could coddle me."

"I'm not coddling you, I'm _worried_, there's a difference! You didn't even try to go to bed, did you? When was the last time you actually slept? Or ate a decent meal?" She looked away and he threw up his hands. "That's just great! I don't know if you've looked at yourself recently, but you look like shit. Even I can see that you've dropped weight you can't afford to lose; you're apparently sucking down booze and nicotine like it's food; you aren't sleeping." He paused and sighed. "You can't keep going like this. If nothing else, your body's going to crash."

Sam nodded slightly, eyes on her notepad. "I know," she whispered.

Mark stopped pacing at that and turned. It was the voice of experience. He sat down beside her, pulled the notepad away, and ducked his head to catch her eyes. "How long have you been living like this?"

Her eyes slipped closed. "A few months after I left Colorado."

"You mean a few months after the Air Force ordered you to start making weapons."

"Mark…" She sighed and leaned against the back of the couch. Either too tired to deny it or because she just didn't care anymore.

"Can we please pretend that I'm smart enough to know that's what happened, and that you hated it, and now you hate yourself for doing it?"

Sam nodded a bit as she stared at the ceiling. Her jaw worked a few times and when she finally spoke he had to lean forward to hear. "After we dropped the bombs on Japan… I wonder what the people who built them thought. All that death, because of them."

"_Sam_…" He thought he sounded vaguely horrified at the implication.

She lifted her head and her expression flickered, something loosened, like she'd finally gotten what she wanted from him. _Blame_. She reached for her notepad.

Mark caught her hand. "Doing this to yourself…" He stumbled over the clichés that raced through his head. "They're still dead, Sam, and you still did whatever you did. This doesn't make anything better."

"It's not…" Her jaw clenched, hard, like she refused to let the words escape. When Sam turned her head they stared at each other and for once she didn't drop her eyes. He thought he finally understood why she'd come to him.

"Go take a shower," Mark said. "You kinda smell bad." Like salt and alcohol, tobacco and pain.

Sam scoffed but she stood and moved towards the bathroom.

"When you get out I'll have breakfast waiting!" He pivoted towards the kitchen but stopped at the renewed banging.

It was knocking.

Mark headed for the door, eyebrows creased in confusion. No one knew they were here. He pulled open the door and the sight of three crisp blue uniforms greeted him.

"Oh!" Carlos – he'd checked them in yesterday – pulled back in surprise, a key ring in his hand. "I am sorry, I was not going to simply… walk in." He leaned forward. "But they were quite concerned when they knocked before and no one answered. I said, it is still early, but they were _very _insistent."

Mark squinted into the sun and waved a hand. "It's fine, thank you." He focused on the uniforms and his heart sped up with the thought that Sam had lied to him and they were here to drag her off for dereliction of duty. He stepped onto the deck and pulled the door closed behind him. "Can I help you?"

The officer who stood at the front of the trio stepped forward, hand extended. "Lieutenant Leslie Ann Baker, Mister Carter." She smiled brightly.

"Uhh, okay." His eyes slipped to the other two. "And Mutt and Jeff back there?"

"Oh, of course. Captain Fisher," she pointed at the short one, "and Lieutenant Kerry."

Mark rubbed the back of his head and bit his lip. "Can I see some ID, please?"

"Certainly." Lieutenant Baker pulled out a folding black wallet, her military ID prominent.

Mark looked pointedly at the other two until they did likewise. His gaze flicked between them and he thought he knew why Sam had ignored them earlier. "Sam said she's on leave."

"That's correct, sir."

"So what are you doing here?"

"Quite simply, we're not on leave."

"So, what, your job is to follow her around? Why?"

"We're not at liberty to discuss the nature of our work with you, Mister Carter," Lieutenant Baker said.

"Okay, whatever, it's too early for this," Mark said. And he was hungry. He turned and left the door open. "Sam's in the shower. I'm making pancakes." He turned at the entryway to the small kitchen and watched as they seated themselves. They didn't look like assistants, well, maybe Baker did. Mutt and Jeff screamed security.

Mark banged the pots and pans around as he dug for the griddle. He couldn't help wondering just what the hell the Air Force had gotten his sister involved in that she required an entourage. And if they were with her all the time why they let her get half-way to killing herself. He slammed the fridge closed and scowled at nothing in particular.

He'd almost forgotten why he hated the military. Too many people slipped through the cracks.

--


	3. Chapter 3

FYI for people who may not know, the voting has _finally _opened for the Stargate Fan Awards and will be until August 15th. _The Way _and _On the Wings of Bees… _were both nominated.

--

Jack stared down at the Stargate. It hadn't changed and that both comforted and unnerved him. Most of the SGC hadn't changed; there were new chairs in the briefing room, he'd spotted fancy new medical equipment headed towards the infirmary, and everything had a sheen to it like the place had been scrubbed from top to bottom to remove two years of minimal use. But on the whole it was exactly as he remembered it.

It felt surreal.

"There it is."

Jack blinked and focused on General Hammond's reflection. "Sir."

Hammond smiled. "Sorry I'm late, Jack. Meetings." He turned his attention back to the Stargate.

"Ah, yes, I know them well," Jack said and then fell silent. He hadn't seen the General since the day new orders had arrived for almost the entire facility. Now two years and a war sat between them and like so many other things it just wasn't the same.

Hammond chuckled lightly and nodded. "At least some things don't change."

Jack looked and spotted what had to be Siler bent over and fiddling with something next to the Stargate. "Yes, sir."

The General turned and held out a hand. "Walk with me?"

Jack nodded and followed him out of the briefing room. They wended through the corridors and nodded at those they passed. Hammond talked about the SGC's funding – exceptionally more than it had been two years ago – and the effort to bring back as many old personnel as possible to smooth the process. They expected to be up and running again in two weeks.

But Jack didn't hear it. He scanned the faces of those they passed and recognized precious few. They looked young and he thought of graves filled with people who'd been just like them, of VA hospitals brimming with veterans barely into their twenties.

And he thought of Daniel, his righteous indignation over what they'd been reduced to, and that he wasn't wrong but then neither was Jack. He wondered if he had it in him to watch more children die.

"Jack?"

"Huh?" He looked up and realized they'd arrived at what had once been General Hammond's office. "Sir?"

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" Hammond motioned him into the office and they took the two visitor chairs, side by side. "What's on your mind, son?"

"I saw Daniel yesterday."

"Ah. And how is Doctor Jackson? I heard he had some trouble."

Jack turned his head, forehead creased. "You did?"

Hammond smiled gently. "I keep tabs on my people."

"Right." Why he hadn't kept tabs on them, his _team_, he couldn't remember. "Daniel's, um… it…" He stumbled over the words and the vague awkwardness of talking with this man who'd once been friend and mentor. "We fought," Jack finally settled on. "It's… not the same anymore."

The General sighed deeply. He nodded, slowly and knowingly. "The things we lose when we go to war are… unexpected. And innumerable."

They fell silent and it reminded Jack of countless funerals and ramp ceremonies, of Veteran's Day and church and prayer and death. It suffocated him.

"Do you want this job, Jack?" Hammond's voice was welcome. "Because you're at the top of this list, all you have to do is say the word. But I know administration never appealed to you."

Jack glanced down and rubbed his leg. He'd never do anything but administrative duties for the Air Force again. If he had to sit behind a desk this one was the most appealing "What are you doing, sir?"

"Retiring," Hammond said. "And it's long overdue." He smiled, bright and genuine, and Jack couldn't help envying him.

"Congratulations."

Hammond nodded and waited, eyebrows slightly raised. After a long moment he stood and clasped Jack's shoulder. "You don't need to make a decision today. Take a few days, think about it." He collected his jacket and briefcase from the floor.

Jack nodded absently until the sound of the opening door reminded him. "General!" He turned and stood. "You said you kept tabs on us. Does that include Carter?"

Hammond stiffened minutely and his expression shifted. "Yes."

"So you know what she's been up to, how to get in contact with her?" Jack stepped closer when Hammond hesitated. Jack had been surprised that Daniel hadn't kept in contact with her but the look on Hammond's face made Jack wonder if there wasn't something more to it. "Sir?"

"If you don't already know then I can't tell you." Somehow, Hammond looked pained at the thought that Jack didn't know.

"What about a phone number, e-mail address, something?"

Hammond started to shake his head but paused. "I do have…" He set his briefcase on the desk and dug through it for a small date book. He ripped a page out. "This is the only number on file."

Jack folded it carefully into his pocket. "But?" The unspoken word all but hung between them.

"I never got past the perky secretary who answers the phone."

"What, she didn't take messages?"

"Oh, she did," Hammond said. "But I sincerely doubt she ever delivered them."

The assuredness in the General's voice raised Jack's suspicion another notch. "Maybe Carter just didn't want to talk to you." He didn't mean it as the insult it sounded like.

Hammond remained silent. He just shot Jack a long look, appraising and tinged with that same pain, and if it held meaning it slipped right past him.

"Don't take too long to decide," Hammond said. He slipped out the door.

And left Jack with the feeling that he was missing something obvious.

--

Mark scraped the last plate and put it into the dishwasher. Breakfast had been strained, or maybe it had just been him. Sam hadn't seemed surprised to see their new guests but she hadn't looked welcoming, either.

"_Ma'am." Lieutenant Baker shot up from the couch when Sam stepped into the hallway. Mutt and Jeff straightened._

"_Lieutenant." _

"_You lost us at that traffic circle intentionally, ma'am."_

"_Yes." A small smile crooked her lips. "Yes I did." It was the first hint of amusement Mark had seen from her in two days._

Sam had ignored them for the rest of the meal and retreated outside as soon as she finished. Mutt and Jeff had trailed after her, Baker took up residence on the deck, and Mark was left confused.

He finished in the kitchen and something made him pause at the screen door when he heard a phone ring on the other side.

"Lieutenant Colonel Carter's office. Baker speaking." A pause. "I'm sorry, she's not available right now." Mark's eyebrow crept up his forehead. "Of course, and your name? Uh-huh, alright, goodbye."

When he heard the phone click closed Mark stepped onto the deck. He leaned against a post, eyes on Sam in the beach chair; even from here he could see a lazy trail of cigarette smoke. He kept his attention on her as he spoke, "Does my sister know you screen her calls?"

"Mister Carter?" She sounded entirely too saccharine to be sincere.

Mark pursed his lips and turned his head fractionally. "I don't know what your definition of _available _is, but in my world you don't get any more available than that." He nodded at Sam.

"I'm doing my job."

He turned and faced her. "So it's your job to keep her from talking to anyone and to just stand idly by and watch as she runs herself into the ground?"

Baker bristled. "You can't possibly understand the situation—"

"Oh, I think I'm getting a pretty good idea! You ripped her out of Colorado, no forwarding address, put her God knows where, and the one number that's apparently out there has you acting as a nice little _filter_." He spat the last word out, disgusted with the Air Force, disgusted with Baker for going along with the systematic isolation, even if they were her _orders_.

Baker's face shifted and her expression cracked for just a second. "I…" But whatever she'd intended to say stalled in her throat.

Mark waved her off as he descended the steps. He didn't need to know anything more to know he didn't like her and that wouldn't change. The more he figured out the greater the sour taste in his mouth.

--

Sam didn't have to turn her head to know who approached. Fisher and Kerry were much quieter, Baker far louder. Mark's shadow fell over her.

"You didn't tell me you got promoted," he said. He sat.

She took a long drag on her cigarette and watched as the waves rolled up onto the beach then fell back. Up and back, up and back; they never reached any farther but they never stopped trying.

"Why not?"

"Because for the first time I wasn't proud of it," Sam said. Every time she heard it - Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel - she felt sick. A flick of her wrist and the ash fell, carried away by the wind before it hit the sand.

Mark glanced back at the bungalow. "Did you know that Baker woman screens your calls?"

Sam put out the cigarette in the sand and exhaled a long plume of smoke. "No, but…" She shrugged and nodded simultaneously.

"No but what? What did that mean?" He gestured and leaned in front of her, that heavy, questioning look back on his face. Clearly he'd realized he got more out of her when he forced eye contact. She looked down but caught the shift in his expression. "But you figured it out."

"Eventually." The same day she'd figured out exactly what they had her working on, the same day she'd started drinking, the same day she'd felt betrayed.

"How are you not mad about this?" Mark sounded incredulous, angry on her behalf.

But she'd never wanted his sympathy.

Sam snatched up the pack of cigarettes and stood. "I don't want to talk about this." She struck off down the beach towards the jetty visible in the distance.

Mark followed. "Why not?" He ran up beside her and kept pace. "You should be angry but instead you're just blaming yourself. Some General or someone knew you'd have a problem with it so they did everything they could short of locking you in some lab to insulate you from the rest of the world. From your friends, your coworkers, family. So nobody could talk you out of it, so there'd be less chance of you talking _yourself _out of it. You should be furious, why aren't you furious?" He reached out and pulled on her arm.

Sam whirled. She yanked her arm free and shoved at his shoulders. "Because I still did it!" He stumbled backwards. "I figured it out within months but I still went in _every day _for more than a year and a half!"

"They ordered you to do this, Sam, they _ordered _it. You couldn't say no."

"But I should have." She turned from him, arms wrapped around herself. "I _should _have." Her chest felt tight and suddenly it seemed like she couldn't breathe; she felt sand under her knees and heard Mark's voice, calm and firm, but all she saw were the tallies of the people she'd helped murder.

--

Daniel scooped up the mail and paused at the sight of the familiar Air Force seal. He glanced at the return address and knew it had come from Cheyenne Mountain.

_They're reopening the SGC._

He dropped it into the wastebasket.

--


	4. Chapter 4

--

"_Sam_." Mark followed her up the stairs and glared at Lieutenant Baker who sank back into the deck chair. "Would you—"

The door slammed in his face.

He didn't miss a step though and bulled his way through, found her in the kitchen. "I want to talk about this."

"I don't," Sam said. She stood with her back to him, shoulders bunched and head bowed.

"Sam." He softened his voice and closed the gap between them. "You just had a… I don't know what that was, an anxiety attack, something. You need help."

"I'm _fine_."

He side-stepped to get an angle on her face. He didn't believe her and knew she didn't believe herself. "How often does that happen?"

"It doesn't." And it was the truth. That had been the first time and he could tell from her voice that it had scared her as much as it had him.

Mark took another step and caught sight of the bottle on the counter in front of her. Most of his concern mutated into anger. "Because you're always drunk?"

"Because I don't think about it."

"Then why are you reaching for the booze?"

Sam spun on her heel, the bourbon clutched in one hand. The anger on her face matched the venom in his voice. "Why don't you say what you're really thinking?" Her eyes dared him.

"_Fine_," Mark spat. He closed the distance between them; his volume grew with every step. "I wasn't ready to call you an alcoholic after one night of drinking but if you crack that open in the middle of the afternoon I'll have to change my mind!"

Her jaw clenched and she stared. The fury in her eyes wasn't just at what he'd said; it was two years of repressed emotion and he knew it was what ate at her in the dark of the night.

Sam lurched forward and he braced himself. But she just pressed the bottle into his chest and brushed past. A moment later a door slammed again only it was to the bedroom. He could only hope that she would sleep.

Mark's whole body uncoiled. He dropped his eyes to the label and before he could think it through he found himself pouring it down the sink. There was beer in the fridge and another bottle of bourbon in the cupboard. As he emptied them he couldn't help wondering, not for the first time, who had stocked the kitchen. All the groceries had been here when they'd arrived.

"Ahem."

Mark turned at the throat clearing. Half of Mutt and Jeff – _Captain Fischer?_ – stood awkwardly partway between the kitchen and the door to the porch. Mark stared, confused; neither of the men had said more than a few words since their arrival and they'd certainly never approached Mark.

Fisher raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly, like an invitation, encouragement.

Realization struck.

Mark crossed his arms and leaned on the counter. "You saw what happened? On the beach?" Both men had trailed behind them, a fact he hadn't realized until he'd turned to follow Sam's rapid retreat to the bungalow.

Fisher nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Has it happened before?" He'd believed Sam but she'd been so hard to read lately.

"Not that I've seen," Fisher said.

"How long have you been her security detail?" Mark raised a hand. "Please don't insult me by denying that's what you are."

A small smile flickered across Fisher's mouth. He looked down and away briefly. "Little more than a year, little less than a year and a half. Depends how you slice it."

Mark nodded and moved across the kitchen. He'd decided he disliked Baker in a snap judgment; he'd thought Mutt and Jeff should be painted with the same brush but perhaps not. "And why does my sister need security in the first place?"

Fisher's expression closed and his whole body stiffened. It was the war between wanting to share, to reassure, and being under orders to keep the secret. When he spoke it was halting and quiet. "There were some… security concerns… at the facility." His eyes flicked up to Mark and held for a beat. "Certain things… went missing—"

"Stolen," Mark said, nearly sub-vocal.

"—and there were several… mechanical problems."

"Sabotage."

A muscle twitched in Fisher's jaw that signalled he'd heard. But he made no other motion to either confirm or deny.

Mark licked his lips slowly in thought. "But security doesn't get assigned to a _person _unless there's a danger to them." He paused before he continued. "Or they're a suspect."Maybe they'd thought Sam hadn't been such an obedient officer.

Fisher's back straightened reflexively and his eyes shot up. He was insulted by the implication. "It was common knowledge that Lieutenant Colonel Carter was the project lead."

Which made her a logical target for potential saboteurs. Something clicked in Mark's head and it all suddenly made so much more sense.

_I figured it out within months._

Certainly she couldn't have been the only person smart enough to realize the implications. And neither would she have been the only one bothered by it.

_You couldn't say no._

_But I should have._

She'd been vehement and he hadn't understood it. But if Fisher were to be believed other people _had _acted, maybe even asked for her help.

Mark exhaled heavily and met Fisher's eyes. He couldn't do anything about the past but he could help her now. "How much does she drink?"

Fisher inhaled sharply. "More than she should. Not so much that it ever interfered with her work."

Mark nodded mostly to himself. Armed with all this information he still didn't know what, exactly, he could do, if anything. Barely three days and he already felt exhausted with the effort. "Okay, thank you."

Fisher inclined his head briefly and turned smartly on his heel.

"Oh," Mark straightened, "wait." One other thing had nagged him since the trio's arrival. "You're really here because you haven't been reassigned yet?"

Fisher turned back and smiled fully. "Yes, sir. There hasn't been a credible threat to Colonel Carter for several weeks now. Bureaucracy." He shrugged.

Mark chuckled, surprised. "But you still followed us down the beach."

Fisher raised his chin and met Mark's gaze. "We take our job very seriously, Mister Carter."

Mark sobered at the gravity in the other man's voice, the reality that it had been their duty to guard Sam's life which meant someone had deemed it genuinely in danger. "_Thank you_."

Fisher's eyes softened for a moment, but only a moment, before he turned and exited, this time without pause.

--

Jack slid the pen holder from the left side of the desk to the right. He nudged the phone a few inches farther back and nodded. It was his desk now, his office, and when he walked through the door he didn't want to see the same configuration he'd grown accustomed to during his five years here.

A knock preceded someone's entry. "General, I know you've only just arrived but there's a matter you need to see to immediately."

He looked up, the familiarity in that voice a welcome surprise. "Serge—" He cut himself off when he spotted the insignia on Harriman's shoulders. "Chief." Jack smiled and waved a hand. "Congratulations."

Harriman nodded. "You too, sir."

"So, what's the emergency?"

"There are quite a lot of files in storage room on level twenty-three."

Jack shrugged. "And? This is the military. We do things in triplicate."

Harriman smiled slightly. "Yes, sir. But these files cover shipments over the last two years. As such they're classified at a level higher than most of our incoming personnel are cleared for and they're just… sitting there."

"How do you have clearance?"

Harriman blinked. "Uh, I was here, sir. I oversaw Gate operations and filed all the productivity reports."

"Oh." He'd read those reports every week. Well, he'd _scanned _them every week. But he'd never looked at who signed off on the columns of numbers. He leaned back and sighed. "Just get someone to move them to a secure room, Chief."

"Well, sir." Harriman shuffled his feet. "We're the only two people currently on base who are cleared to see them."

Jack groaned. "Oh, _great. _Fine, let's go." He shooed the Chief ahead of him and followed slowly to give his leg time to stretch out.

Harriman opened the storage room door and stepped aside to let Jack enter first. It was one of the smaller rooms but it was filled to the top with stacks of boxes.

Jack kicked one, hands on his hips. "All this to keep track of a bunch of ore."

"I believe it qualifies as a mineral, sir. Especially since we received it refined."

He grunted. Naquadah. It had been all about the naquadah. Naquadah bombs, naquadah weapons, naquadah reinforced body armour – _if only we'd had that earlier_. All his idea because he knew naquadah, or at least its potential. For five years he'd listened to Carter extol its virtues…

His thoughts ground to a halt.

Naquadah.

Carter.

Carter and naquadah.

The look on General Hammond's face mocked him now and he wondered how he could have been so _stupid _to have missed it.

"General O'Neill?"

Jack turned on numbed legs. "Just get Siler to install a lock or something," he said. Or he thought he did. He headed back to his office, the scrap of paper with the phone number burning in his pocket. He dialled by rote but like the other two times the woman who answered gently and politely rebuffed him.

He turned to the boxes that had been delivered to his office earlier. Personnel files, people both old and new. Carter's should be in there and he needed to know if he was right.

--


	5. Chapter 5

Apologies for the delay on this chapter, folks. In the last three days I had a flurry of last minute demands on my time from family, friends, and work. Suffice it to say, it cut into my writing.

--

"Morning, Chief," Jack said. He stood at Harriman's shoulder and studied the Stargate.

"General." Harriman nodded. "Is there something I can do for you, sir?"

"Did Teal'c keep in contact like we planned?"

"Yes, sir. He dialled in every three months like clockwork."

Jack nodded to himself. "When's his next scheduled contact?"

"If you'd like to talk to him, sir, you don't have to wait. Two contacts ago he indicated he was settling down with his son. He gave us the Gate address and said we were welcome at any time."

"Ah, even better." He glanced at Harriman and gestured at the computers. "Well?"

"Sir?"

"Are you going to dial?"

Harriman tilted his head to look at Jack. "It's unlikely that he'll just happen to have his radio turned on, General."

"Right." Jack nodded. He needed to send a team. "I knew that." He smiled briefly and spun on his heel.

When he arrived at his office Colonel Mason stood outside the door, folders tucked under one arm. He straightened when he spotted Jack and smiled gamely.

"General! Colonel Frank Mason, sir. It's an honour to meet you."

Jack paused and sighed. His supposed second in command who'd been dealing with most of the administrative paperwork since before Jack even accepted the position. It was why they had yet to meet. He waved a hand and nodded, "Yeah, yeah. Same here."

He circled his desk and waved Mason into a chair. "How long until we can field a team?"

Mason paused in sifting through his files and looked up. "For what?"

"Meeting an old friend."

"Ah, Teal'c. Immediately."

Jack looked up, more than a little surprised. "Really?"

"Yes, sir. That's why I'm here, to brief you on our operational status. We're staffed at eighty percent. The missing twenty is mostly support staff – additional nurses, PX staff, a large number of civilian scientists. In terms of Stargate operations though we can field twenty full teams; all of them are composed of at least two Gate veterans, if you will."

"Wait, stop." Jack waved a hand until Mason fell silent. "Before we really get into this I want to get someone out there." Now that he knew contact with Teal'c was literally only a few hours away he felt anxious to make it happen.

Maybe it was Carter's irritatingly nice secretary who didn't give a damn that he was _General _O'Neill. Maybe it was because Daniel had yet to respond to the letters and phone calls they'd bombarded him with.

Whatever it was he felt a compulsion to talk to the people he'd all but forgotten about over the past two years.

"Very well, sir," Mason said. "I can wait."

--

Sam looked up from the rough sketch at raised voices in the hallway. It was Mark of course trying to deter Lieutenant Baker she assumed. She appreciated his effort but knew he didn't stand a chance. Baker was nothing if not persistent and bull-headed which was probably why she'd been given her assignment in the first place. It took a lot of guts to brush off Generals and other big brass

"She might be sleeping!"

"She's been in there for over twenty-four hours, I doubt she's still asleep!"

The door burst open.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Mark's harried expression and Baker's vaguely triumphant look at her victory.

Baker stepped forward, cell phone extended. "A call for you, ma'am."

Sam sighed but took it. "Carter." She listened, eyes on her brother but her attention on the cold dread that spread from her gut despite knowing the call was inevitable. "Okay." She flipped it shut and tossed it back to Baker.

The Lieutenant lingered. "Ma'am?"

"We're driving back into San Diego tonight. I have a flight tomorrow morning." She dropped back against the pillows and rubbed her eyes. "Back to Colorado."

"Very well," Baker said. She backed out of the room rapidly.

Mark stayed though and entered fully. He shut the door and sat at the foot of the bed. "Did you sleep?"

"Some."

"That's good." He shimmied up the bed and stretched out beside her. "What's that?" He nodded at the notepad on her legs. "You've been messing with it since we got here."

She picked it up and studied the basic sketch, the chicken scratch of numbers and symbols, then shrugged. "Nothing. Just a… it's nothing." She dropped it off the side of the bed and closed her eyes.

Mark's breathing rasped quietly in her hearing and she found it oddly soothing. Even though she hadn't been the best company the last four days she appreciated his presence; she hadn't realized how lonely she'd felt before.

He shifted onto his side and she felt his gaze. "You didn't sound too happy about going back to work. Or is it just going back to Colorado?"

"I…" She didn't know if it was both or neither of those things. She didn't know if she needed to just go back to work and the feeling would fade with time. Certainly hiding out in California doing nothing hadn't helped.

"They don't call you by your rank."

That startled a response out of her. "What?" Sam faced him.

Mark shrugged. "They don't. It's _ma'am _this and _ma'am _that. But never once Colonel, not to your face." He paused and his eyes flicked over her for a second. "You used to love the Air Force, Sam. You loved everything about it and your job. But right now you just look physically ill at the idea of going back to it." He sat up and rested his hand on her leg. "You gave enough to them out of duty and look where it got you. Don't stay and be miserable for the same reason. At some point it isn't enough."

Sam watched as he stood and moved to the door. It was so simple when he said it, he made it sound so easy. Just walk away. She could. And yet she couldn't, not until she knew for certain that she would always feel like this.

Mark leaned against the door, a fond smile on his face. When she met his eyes his smile grew. "Now come on, you need to eat and the food should almost be ready."

--

Jack stared at the closed door. Mason had just left. The briefing had been entirely mind-numbing, just as he'd figured. Mason had ended by highlighting some _notable exceptions_, staff that had yet to return and were more than just support.

People like Doctor Daniel Jackson and Lieutenant Colonel Sam Carter.

Jack figured Carter was just a matter of time; if nothing else the presence of her personnel file in his office, a file he previously hadn't been cleared to see and had now read in its entirety, proved the Air Force intended to send her back to the SGC. The orders just needed to be processed and sent down the chain by someone who could get past_ that woman_ who answered the phone.

And Daniel… Jack had no idea what was going on with Daniel. Despite the war, despite their fight, Jack knew Daniel had loved this job. Jack had decided someone needed to make a visit in person because that was almost impossible to ignore.

But it was the other _notable exceptions _that weighed on him. The people who should be walking the halls but weren't, the people whose files should be on his desk but were conspicuous because of their absence. He'd looked them all up, unable to kill his morbid curiosity.

Colonel Albert Reynolds, KIA thirteen months into the war.

Major Louis Ferretti, medical discharge eight months ago because he'd left half his leg behind in the desert.

Major Griff, KIA seven months into the war.

Major Castleman, MIA going on three months.

Lieutenant Shelia Evans, KIA eighteen months into the war while triaging a wounded soldier.

Colonel Dave Dixon, medical discharge for unspecified reasons.

Major Coburn, on indefinite stress leave.

The list went on and on and _on_. So much blood and death and even the people who'd escaped with their lives hadn't really done so unwounded.

"General O'Neill?" Harriman spoke, knocked, and opened the door all in one motion. He poked his head around and smiled hesitantly. "We have Teal'c on the radio, sir."

Jack shook off his thoughts and stood. There wasn't any place for the dead in the SGC or his head; he shed the weight of them with every step and when he arrived in the control room he was firmly centred in the now.

"Teal'c!" He spoke cheerfully into the microphone and the depth of feeling caught him off guard.

"O'Neill." Teal'c's voice sounded warm and deep.

Jack smiled. "I hear you've gone domestic on us."

"Indeed."

"How's Rya'c?"

"Well," Teal'c said. "And you, O'Neill. I have been told that you are now running the SGC?"

"Yeah, well, they had to sucker someone into it."

"There was no better choice," Teal'c said.

A brief beat passed between them and Jack recognized it as the weight of two unshared years. He pushed through it before it could lengthen. "I thought you might like to come for a visit? About this time tomorrow?"

"I would be honoured to visit the Taur'i again, O'Neill."

"Great. I'll see you then. We can do that reminiscing thing."

"I look forward to it."

Jack waited a moment, still bent over the microphone, but Teal'c clearly had nothing further to say. "Come on home, Major Grier." He straightened and watched until the event horizon winked out. Major Grier and his team had an hour's walk back to the Gate.

He nodded at Harriman and headed back to his office. Somehow the conversation with Teal'c hadn't gone how he'd hoped, or felt like he'd hoped, or… _something_. He couldn't put his finger on it but there was definitely something missing.

--


	6. Chapter 6

A longer chapter for your enjoyment. Also, I'm leaving on a last minute trip tomorrow and will be back Tuesday so there might not be an update during that time. And my thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! It's great to hear from you all.

--

Mark waited until Mutt and Jeff and Baker headed towards security. Once they joined the line he smiled at Sam and opened his arms. He hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek.

When he pulled back he held her shoulders and caught her eyes. "Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything or want to talk you call me."

"Okay," Sam said. She nodded and offered a smile.

"I mean it." He squeezed her shoulders for emphasis. "I want you to call me. Any time."

"_Okay_, Mark." Sam pulled his hands off her shoulders. "I will." She canted her head towards the line. "I should go."

"Right." He picked up her duffle and walked towards the beginning of the line. "Have a good flight."

She took her bag and he stepped back, watched until she walked through the metal detectors and disappeared down the concourse.

--

"Doctor Jackson? Hello?"

Daniel paused halfway down the stairs when he heard the combined knocking and calling. He hadn't opened the store yet and it was already early afternoon; he'd had half a mind that he should call up the SGC – well, Jack, he was certain Jack had accepted the position – or just drop by in response to all their overtures to woo him back.

Ever since Jack's visit he hadn't been able to help thinking that maybe he'd been a little hasty. A little too rigid. A little too quick to spit fire and brimstone at a man who, despite the uniform, had never been the enemy.

He descended the stairs fully and moved to the door. Two people – a man and a woman – stood on the sidewalk decked out in uniform. Daniel slowed and finally stopped next to the cash register, eyes locked on their slightly distorted forms.

He remembered the last time people in uniform had paid him a visit…

~*~*~

The chime above the door rang.

"Morning, Carl!" Daniel didn't straighten from his hunch over a box of new arrivals.

"Good morning. I brought you a coffee from the shop on Chester."

Daniel stood and accepted the paper cup. "You are a God-send." After a careful sip he nodded at a small bookshelf behind the counter. "I found that companion book you wanted. Top shelf."

Carl grinned and circled the counter. He pulled the slim volume off the shelf and stroked the cover reverently. "Ah, but you are good at what you do. How much?"

"Well—"

The door slammed open.

Daniel jerked. "What the hell?"

Six men in fatigues streamed through the doorway and spread out through the store. The last to enter stopped in front of the counter. "Which one of you is Daniel Jackson?"

"I am but—"

Books clattered to the floor.

"Hey! Some of those are the last copies in print!" Daniel put his coffee down and circled the counter. "You can't just barge in here and—"

Paper ripped.

"Be _careful_." He reached out reflexively and grabbed the nearest man's arm. And found himself slammed face-first into the counter, arms wrenched behind his back. Plastic zip cuffs tightened around his wrists.

"Mister Jackson," the only man who'd spoken bent over to meet Daniel's eyes, "I'm Colonel Hart. We need to talk." Hart nodded and took hold of Daniel's elbow to guide him out of the store.

As Hart pulled him outside Daniel twisted his neck to look behind him. He caught sight of one man at his newspaper rack; he opened each issue, shook out the pages as if checking for inserts, then moved on to the next. Carl remained frozen behind the counter and Daniel hoped they'd ignore him.

"In you go," Hart said.

Daniel delayed a moment. He spotted a man headed up the stairs towards his apartment. Every bookshelf was practically empty now and he shuddered to think what his home would look like when they finished.

Finally Daniel turned his head and glared at Hart but only for a moment before he stepped into the black SUV. He slid across the backseat and watched as Hart followed behind him and closed the door. A woman sat in the driver's seat but she kept her eyes forward as she started the car and pulled away from the curb.

"This is an unreasonable search and seizure. You can't just barge into my home without my permission and take _me _into custody! I didn't see a warrant. And you're military, you don't exactly have jurisdiction unless I missed something."

"I doubt there's much you miss, Mister Jackson."

"It's _Doctor_." He scanned the passing scenery fervently to keep track of their route.

"Oh?" Hart's eyes flicked over an open folder. "I apologize. That's not in the information I was given."

"_Really_? Somehow I doubt that. Are you going to tell me what this is about?" They turned off the main streets and headed towards the city limits. A kernel of panic surged.

"This doesn't have to be difficult, Doctor Jackson. It's just a conversation."

"And here I thought it was you systematically violating my rights. It certainly doesn't _feel _like a conversation." He tugged against the zip ties until the plastic dug into his wrists, accusatory eyes locked on Hart. "Especially since you're looking more and more like the Gestapo with every second."

Hart dropped his gaze and focused on the folder in his lap. He turned the pages slowly and made the odd mark with his pen. "Daniel Jackson. Parents Claire and Melburn Jackson, deceased. After their deaths you went into foster care because your grandfather, Nicholas Ballard, refused to take you in. You're an archaeologist/linguist and, strangely enough, you spent five years as a civilian contractor for the Air Force at Cheyenne Mountain." He looked up.

The SUV rolled to a stop. They'd driven into an old condemned building on the edge of the Springs. It reeked of a scare tactic, of clandestine cloak and dagger shit better suited to mystery novels than his life – especially his life on _Earth_. He expected this kind of thing off-world but not here. Hart hadn't moved though and neither had the driver so he relaxed marginally, secure that they weren't going to haul him out of the car.

With their location unchanging Daniel turned all of his attention onto Hart and raised an eyebrow. "Am I supposed to be impressed that you know all that? Or maybe scared?" He snorted. "Please, if that's all you have on me then someone's not telling you everything. My _graduate _school had a better dossier on them than that, to say _nothing _of the background checks done before I started work at the mountain."

Hart leaned back against the door and stared. Daniel stared right back. Men more intimidating than Colonel Hart had looked at him like that.

"Before you joined the staff at Cheyenne you traveled extensively throughout northern Africa and the Middle East on archaeological digs. Egypt, Israel, Turkey, Lebanon, Iraq, Jordan, Libya—"

"And Italy, Greece, Spain, Bulgaria, Cyprus, India, even a bit in China. That doesn't even cover South America or the rest of Asia. There's probably dozens more. But apparently you've decided to only focus on the things that make me look guilty while ignoring everything else, so what the hell's your point, _Colonel_?"

Hart turned another page and licked his lips. "It's quite simple. No less than six of the countries you spent considerable time in are known to harbour – either knowingly or unknowingly – self-identifying members of the—"

"Wait, just… wait a second. So you think that between digging up pieces of pottery and surviving the heat that I ran off and joined some fundamentalist, extremist organization? And now, what? You think I'm using my newspapers to smuggle in messages for their members here, people you'd have us believe you _caught _over six months ago?"

Hart tilted his head back. "You talk like you think it's impossible."

"And you're acting like I've already been convicted! What the fuck gives you the right to do this?"

"The President of the United States!" Hart leaned forward. "Because they walked into our backyard and attacked us and somewhere people just like you helped them, either because they were complicit or just plain lazy. It's my job to make sure that will _never _happen again."

Daniel leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Or maybe it was people just like you, Colonel. Next month it could be you sitting where I am and then what are you going to do?" He stared Hart down and smirked when the Colonel leaned back. "I'm not a terrorist or a collaborator or anyone you need to worry about. Christ, it's been ten months. What the hell happened that has you people _abducting _American _citizens _because you're so sure monsters are hiding in every shadow? What turned you on to _me_?"

Hart dropped his gaze and his body language shifted.

Daniel scoffed. "Great, that's just great. You've got everyone so paranoid we're suspecting each other now."

Hart sighed and wrote something on one of the pages. "Doctor Jackson, provided we find nothing in your home or place of business all you need to do is give a verifiable reason for your sustained presence in these countries and we'll be on our way."

A chuckle burst loose and Daniel shook his head. "Are you serious? I was there for _digs_. And it was those countries because they happen to be where people and civilizations rose and fell three thousand years ago. Mesopotamia? The Egyptians? Ancient Greece? The Roman Empire? Ringing any bells, Colonel?"

"That's certainly a reasonable cover, Doctor, but I said _verifiable_. Your word alone is not enough." Hart looked up at the sustained silence. "That's quite the defiant look but I assure you, sir, remaining silent is _not _the tactic you want to employ."

Daniel gritted his teeth. He strained against the zip tie but knew all he'd get for his efforts were welts. "After detaining me _without _cause or _proof _you expect me to just… pander to your paranoia and _cooperate_?"

Hart made a few more notes and nodded. "If you expect to be dropped off at your place of business and not a facility then yes, that's exactly what I expect."

"Ever hear the phrase _you get more flies with honey than vinegar_?"

Hart's cell phone rang. He listened silently, still making unconcerned notes all over his file. Seconds slid by and Daniel stewed. He glared at the woman in the front seat even though she still refused to acknowledge him.

"Good news, Doctor," Hart said when he hung up. "My men didn't find anything."

Daniel's lips twisted into a sneer. "Well gee, I could have told you that. Who do I bill for all the damage?"

Hart smiled and Daniel wanted to slap the expression off his face. "All that remains is verification."

He stared at the Colonel and hated him for his easy demeanour, the casual way he violated almost every civil liberty Daniel could think of. But he knew that acquiescing was the only way to get himself out of this mess. When he spoke it was through gritted teeth.

"You can start with the Archaeological Institute of America. I'm a member. Most of the digs I participated in I found through them. They'll have records of every other member who participated."

"That's an excellent place to start," Hart said. He wrote rapidly now, with purpose.

"All of my trips to Israel were at the request of a friend, John Doherty, professor of archaeology at the University of Washington. They were all joint digs with Tel Aviv University."

Daniel paused to think of more names. Down the list he went, every significant friend and acquaintance he'd ever made in the archaeological community who could vouch for his presence and conduct on digs.

At some point Hart signalled the woman and she started the car. They wound slowly through the streets, a very roundabout route back to his shop, but shortly after Daniel fell silent they pulled up outside the familiar building.

Hart wrote a final few lines silently and nodded. "Very good, Doctor Jackson. We'll have to contact these people of course but given your cooperation, the lack of evidence in your home, and your good legal standing you're free to return to your home."

The tension bled from Daniel's shoulders. He'd thought they would lock him up until they called every person he'd named. "How generous," he spat.

Hart just exited waved him out of the vehicle. "However, it would be ill-advised to plan any trips out of the country."

"Oh, I wouldn't _dream _of it. I imagine I shouldn't have any private telephone conversations either if I expect them to stay private, wouldn't you say?" He watched as the men walked out of his store and piled into their two vehicles. "If this is what we're reduced to in order to fight this war is it even possible for us to win? How much do we sacrifice before it outweighs any victory?"

Hart hesitated but only for an instant. He climbed into the SUV and it disappeared down the street within seconds.

Daniel turned, shoulders slumped, and trudged back into his store. Almost every book he had now lay on the floor and he immediately spotted a round dozen that had visible damage.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up at a wide-eyed Carl, still behind the counter, and couldn't help the soft, brittle laugh. "Remind me again what country we live in?" He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "I can't believe what we're letting ourselves become."

~*~*~

"Doctor Jackson?"

Daniel blinked at the resumed knocking and lurched back into motion. He unlocked the door and stared at his visitors. "Can I help you?"

"Sir, we've been sent from Cheyenne Mountain to issue a personal invitation to the facility."

"I see," Daniel said. He figured if Jack had accepted the job he wouldn't take no for an answer, not right away at least. "And where you're from resounding silence means something _other _than no?"

A looked passed between them that told Daniel they were simply messengers. It didn't even look like they were officers. Clearly they had no idea the complexity of the situation they'd been thrust into. Daniel wondered for a moment if he should be offended that he didn't even rate a visit from a Lieutenant.

"Um, sir?"

Daniel sighed. He knew Jack and the man was no less stubborn now than he was two years ago. Maybe even more so. If he rebuffed these two no doubt another pair would show up, then another, and another. "Fine. When?"

Both of them straightened at their success. "If you aren't busy right now we can leave immediately, sir."

"Okay," Daniel said. "Just let me grab my jacket." He didn't want to look back in five or ten years and regret that he never heard Jack out. Besides, it might be nice to see some old familiar faces.

--

"Ma'am?"

Sam sighed, dropped her cigarette, and ground it into the cement next to three other butts. She lit another one.

"Ma'am, you're going to be late."

The fence, the patrolling SFs, the small parking area all looked the same. Even the tunnel into the mountain. But the thought of going down there and pretending the last two years hadn't happened made her queasy.

"I don't remember being told a specific time, Lieutenant." She took another drag and watched as a military vehicle got waved through the checkpoint. Her desire to stall should have been all the confirmation she needed that this wasn't where she wanted to be.

"Sam? Is that you?"

She turned. "Daniel." He walked towards her slowly, forehead creased and a half-smile on his face. He looked the same, perhaps as uncomfortable at being here as she felt. When he stopped in front of her she forced herself to say something. "Hi."

"Hi." He shifted his feet and raised a hand in a vague gesture. "It's… you look, um…" He trailed off and the lines on his forehead deepened.

Sam laughed softly and dropped her cigarette. "If you can't even think of a lie I must look worse than I thought."

Daniel blinked and stuttered a moment. "No, you… it's…" He gave up and stepped into a hug. "It's good to see you," he said into her ear.

"You, too," she whispered. And it was even if the sight of him reminded her of everything that wasn't the same and could never be the same again.

They pulled pack in unison and studied each other in silence. She could think of nothing to say and saw the same blankness reflected on his face.

"Ma'am?"

Sam turned away from Daniel, grateful for once at Baker's interruption. "Alright, Lieutenant. Let's go." She followed the woman into the tunnel and towards the elevator.

Daniel ran a step to catch up. "Did you get fetched too?"

"Hmm?"

He nodded at Baker. "I just figured Jack had sent someone to drag you back here." Her silence must have lasted a beat to long because Daniel rushed to fill it in a nervous ramble. "I wasn't interested in coming back to the SGC but you know Jack, he never takes no for an answer. At least I assume he took the job but I'm just guessing." He paused to breathe.

"Daniel." They stepped into the elevator and she shot him a look. "I'm here because of orders."

He exhaled and nodded. "Right. That's… that makes sense."

Sam turned her attention to watching the numbers slide by. She watched him in the reflection on the door, the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot and clasped his hands only to release them. His eyes flitted around the elevator until they seemed to land on her own reflection.

Daniel cleared his throat. "So, um, congratulations." He tilted his head at her shoulders, the silver oak leaves attached to her epaulets.

She just nodded. The elevator stopped then and she exited rapidly and headed for the second car. Just like with Mark she could almost _feel _the questions brewing in Daniel but he wouldn't blurt them out and persist like her brother had – not anymore. But he might ask so she searched desperately for something to distract him. "What have you been doing?"

The elevator started its descent.

"Oh, I opened a bookstore in town," Daniel said.

Sam nodded. "That's nice."

"Yes." He paused. "It was something I always wanted to do. I just figured it would be in my retirement."

She thought he sounded bitter and she couldn't think of anything to say in response so she went back to watching the numbers. Daniel did likewise and she almost wanted to thank him for giving up on their pathetic attempts at small talk.

The doors opened; she breathed a mental sigh of relief. They exited and headed towards the briefing room. Low conversation reached her ears just before Daniel, a half-step ahead, pushed open the door. He stopped two steps inside so she halted at his shoulder and stared at the men in the room.

"Daniel!" Brigadier General Jack O'Neill stood. "Carter. No one told me you were coming. Either of you."

Teal'c gained his feet, attired not in Jaffa robes or armour but homespun, loose clothing that suited him nonetheless. He inclined his head at them. "Daniel Jackson." His eyes shifted to her and she cringed in anticipation of hearing her rank. "Samantha Carter. It is good to see you both."

Sam couldn't help the short laugh. She hadn't expected them – _all _of them – and this was just too much. "I can't do this."

--


	7. Chapter 7

Oh my Lord. Okay, gigantic, most sincere apologies of epic proportions for keeping you all hanging for so long! I went on my trip (which was great, by the way) and when I got back I was just _insanely _busy. This is short but I finally got [some] time to write and I decided to update rather than hold this back simply to make it longer.

So I hope you'll enjoy and forgive me!

--

"What?" The word escaped without conscious thought and Jack knew it wasn't the best thing to say. The suddenness of their appearance had caught him off-guard though, and his thoughts had yet to catch up with the situation. "Carter!"

But she didn't slow herself as she turned and stepped into the corridor. The door swung closed and Jack blinked at it then shifted his gaze to Daniel.

"Uhh…" Daniel looked torn between following her and staying. There'd been a time he wouldn't have hesitated.

Jack had spent days marshalling his arguments and steeling himself for seeing Daniel again. Carter could wait. "She'll be back."

Daniel finally stopped glancing at the door. "You think so?" He sounded doubtful.

"Sure." Jack shrugged. "She's Carter."

"Uh-huh." Daniel circled the table and stood behind a chair but didn't sit. Jack thought he knew why; this was the room, the place General Hammond had delivered the news, relayed the horror of what had happened while they'd been off-world.

_Three bombs went off today._

He blinked the memory away and met Daniel's eyes. Their gazes fenced until Teal'c slipped silently between them and into the corridor. After Carter, Jack supposed, or maybe just giving him and Daniel some privacy.

"So," Jack pursed his lips, "you came."

"I thought I owed it to our… friendship."

The pause didn't slip by unnoticed but the fact that Daniel had used that word – _friendship_ – made the hesitation immaterial. Jack had worried that they'd destroyed what little remained between them during their last encounter. "Good," he said, "that's good."

Daniel wandered over to the window and stared at the Stargate for a long stretch of silence. When he turned he raised his eyebrows in question. "What am I doing here, Jack?"

"What?" Jack blinked and thought perhaps that his brain still hadn't caught up to the situation.

Daniel approached the table and leaned his hip against it. "You've been trying to get me back here and when I finally come there's Sam and Teal'c. Why? Do you think if you can get us all back together it will be like old times? That the last two years just won't matter and we can go back to being who we were before this happened?"

"No!" Jack winced and dropped his eyes. He'd answered too fast, too defensively. Maybe it hadn't consciously crossed his mind but what Daniel suggested sounded… appealing. Even though he knew, intellectually, that it could never happen.

"_Right_." Daniel returned to the window.

"Look, this place could use you and I _know _you loved this job. It's as simple as that."

"No, it's not."

Jack slapped the table. "Tell me you don't want to explore _planets _anymore, Daniel!"

"I do." Daniel sighed and turned. He leaned against the window, arms folded, and stared at Jack. "I do."

"_Well_?" Jack flailed an arm as if the rest was a foregone conclusion.

"That's not enough anymore."

"Not enough… what, you want more money? Better parking space? Just tell me what the problem is and maybe I can—"

"_Fix _it? You can't fix it, Jack. It's isn't fixable!"

"Well how the hell would I know that unless you talk to me?"

Daniel pushed off the wall and closed no Jack. "You can't fix the fact that I don't want to work for the US military anymore because I don't _trust _them! You can't change the fact that they're all a bunch of tyrannical _bullies_ who treat their own citizens like crap out of nothing but fear!" He poked Jack's chest hard and glared. "Can you?"

Jack exhaled heavily and took a step back. "No, but—"

"Oh, this should be _great_. Go ahead, but _what_?"

"But that was the war and whatever happened… the war's over."

"Oh, so I should just absolve them of all responsibility, is that what you're saying? Until they decide maybe they don't trust… oh, I don't know." Daniel paced the room. "Men with greying hair? Or people who wear glasses? Or people who smoke?"

"Smoke?" Jack's forehead creased as he tried to follow Daniel's rant. "What does smoking…"

Daniel whirled and threw an arm into the air. "Sam smokes!" He barely paused before he continued. "Or Teal'c. Maybe they'll decide they don't like Teal'c anymore because hey, he's an alien so can we _really _trust him?"

Jack finally took a seat at the table and watched until Daniel wound down and stopped his angry pacing. "Are you finished?"

Daniel stilled fully and pulled his glasses off. He rubbed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Yes." He looked slightly sheepish at his outburst and he dropped unprotesting into a chair when Jack nodded towards them.

"Good." He leaned on his knees and looked at his fingers. "I understand what you're saying Daniel, I do. But it's not the same thing."

"It's an analogy, Jack." Daniel titled his head back and Jack thought he looked… tired. "Well, except the part about Teal'c. I could see them deciding they don't trust Teal'c anymore." He paused and bit his lip. "If they ever did."

"Daniel…" But his voice faded out because he didn't know what he could say. He still didn't know what had actually happened and doubted that Daniel would ever tell him. But it was apparent it had left its mark.

"After you've crossed the line once it gets easier to do it again," Daniel said. He dropped his head and caught Jack's eyes. "They've crossed it. They've written into law that our rights can be taken away at their say-so." He paused. "Nobody should have that power and it scares me a little bit. I think maybe we should all be a little bit afraid."

Silence fell between them. Jack could almost hear the echo of the clock as it marked time. Except this wasn't quite as hostile or strained or awkward.

"So you're telling me that you're not coming back."

A smile flickered across Daniel's face. "Yeah, that's what I'm telling you."

Jack nodded. "Then why'd you come here at all?"

Daniel shrugged. "To see you. I'm… sorry I jumped down your throat last time."

Jack waved it away. "We both did."

"And… to realize that I really don't want to be here anymore." Daniel flicked his eyes around the room. "I think I always would have wondered if I hadn't come. But it just doesn't feel right anymore. Something's… missing."

_Missing_.

Hadn't Jack thought that very same thing yesterday? He was glad he wasn't the only one who felt this innate sense of… wrongness. But that returning to the SGC, seeing each other again, hadn't been the answer for either of them saddened him. It appeared it wasn't the answer for Carter either if her abrupt exit and lack of return were anything to judge by. And Teal'c had sounded truly at peace and content with his life with Rya'c.

"You can't go home again," Jack said softly.

Daniel looked up sharply and after a brief pause he nodded. "Yeah, that's exactly it."

They lapsed into another silence and this one was almost comfortable. Jack picked at the edge of the table for a moment as he searched for something to say. "What will you do now? Back to the bookstore?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Or… I've been thinking of moving, actually. I like the idea of finding a teaching job somewhere." Daniel looked away like he expected Jack to be mad at the admission but then forced his eyes back. "There's just a lot of history here, a lot of memories. If I'm going to leave this all behind I'm not sure it will work with the mountain looming over me every day."

"A clean break."

"Yes."

Jack understood all too well. Sometimes the last thing you wanted were reminders, even if what you were being reminded of was something you'd let go of by choice. "Alright, well." Jack stood and Daniel followed suit. "We should… do lunch some time or… something. Especially if you're moving."

"That sounds good," Daniel said.

Jack just nodded and started towards the door. It was the polite thing to say but he wondered if either of them would make the effort. He doubted it if only because it was all still far too raw.

Daniel swivelled at the elevator. "Jack."

"Yeah?" He looked up and a thousand conversations that had started just this way in just these corridors flashed through his mind.

_You can't go home again_.

Daniel shuffled his feet until the elevator doors opened. "I really think you should go find Sam. She's…" He shook his head. "I don't know, she's different." With that he ducked into the elevator.

"Yeah," Jack mumbled to himself. "I think we all are."

--


	8. Chapter 8

--

Sam headed for the elevator and barely heard General O'Neill's call. Her chest felt tight again like it had on the beach and she just wanted to _get out_. Someone was just exiting the car and she almost dove in then swirled.

"Don't follow me!" She flung her hand up to stop Fisher, Kerry, and Baker. "For once please just… stay." She jabbed the _close door _button rapidly and the doors finally responded.

Sam slumped into the corner of the elevator and inhaled several precise breaths. The ascending motion, the knowledge that she was getting _away_, calmed the turmoil in her gut. She knew now that she couldn't do this.

The car slid to a gentle halt. It wasn't her floor so she remained stationary, pressed into the corner.

"Colonel Carter!"

Her eyes flew open, as surprised at hearing his voice as he sounded at seeing her. "Doctor Lee."

He clutched a folder in front of him, feet just inside the elevator, eyes wide with shock. "I'll just," he gestured into the corridor, "get another one."

"No, it's fine," Sam said.

The doors closed behind him a second later and took the decision from him. He moved to the opposite side of the car and selected his floor.

Her teeth hurt the tension was so thick. And she decided that here was one issue of the last two years, one screwed up thing that she had the opportunity to fix. Or try to at least. Sam hit the emergency stop.

The elevator jerked to a halt.

Bill tensed even more and glanced at her warily out of the corner of his eye.

Sam turned and faced him but remained pressed against the elevator wall. She appreciated its solidity. "I never ratted you out," she said.

Bill inhaled and held it for a long moment like he was composing himself. When he exhaled he nodded and finally looked at her. "I know that. Now." He paused and his hands worried themselves. "And I… we… the people I was… with… they weren't the ones who arranged for the _accident_." He met her eyes boldly. "If I'd known you have to believe I would have said something."

"I know," Sam said. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, surprised at the emotion that climbed up from somewhere she hadn't been aware of.

"We did what we did because we wanted to prevent people dying.

We – I – never wanted anyone to get hurt," Bill said. He scanned her openly now as if searching for signs of trauma.

"I know." She nodded slightly and held his eyes until his expression relaxed.

It hadn't been that serious but only because she'd been caught in the hallway on her return from a coffee run. Some superficial burns, a minor concussion, and a laceration that had left the faintest of scars at her hairline, visible only if one knew it was there. She'd missed three days of work. The damage to the lab had been more significant.

"And I'm sorry about what I said," Bill said slowly. He licked his lip and worried his hands again. "It wasn't true. You weren't to blame any more than I was, or the janitor."

Sam held her breath as his words trickled into her understanding. Two years ago his apology would have meant the world. But now it was a paltry balm on a large, festering wound.

"Did they ever catch…" Bill hesitated like he wasn't sure he should broach the subject further. "I mean, did they figure out who did it?"

"Yes." She closed her eyes against the unwelcome memories, exactly the ones she wanted to free herself of. "Some scientist who… I guess he had connections but he'd lived here for years."

Bill exhaled loudly. "Jesus. I always saw that stuff on the news but I mostly thought it was just… sensationalist fear-mongering." He paused and his eyebrows drew together. "But you know, after I… left… I remember thinking they really ramped up the rhetoric on that. Never gave any details though."

"To keep the falsely accused out of the press." Sam opened her eyes and caught his expression. She shrugged. "When you tell people to be afraid because the monster might be living across the street it's inevitable."

Bill's face turned reflective, a look he often bore when working on complex problems. And she abruptly decided she didn't want to talk about this anymore.

"I am sorry you lost your job," she said. An unabashed change in subject but Bill followed her lead.

"No," he said. He waved a hand like it was long forgotten. "It was a good thing in the long run. After I left I stopped getting those headaches; I slept better. I think if I'd stayed I would have…" He trailed off into silence and slanted a look at her.

_Ended up in my shoes_. Sam read his expression and finished his sentence easily. She chose not to respond and simply forged ahead. "But here you are."

Bill chuckled briefly. "Well, when you can't disclose any details about what _exactly_ you've been doing for the last six years the opportunities are… scarce. I spent most of the last year doing odd jobs. I… missed the science, despite everything. The challenge. When they called I thought it might be my last chance to work in my field." He shrugged and held his hands before him.

"And here you are," Sam said. She didn't think he looked terribly happy about it but it sounded like the SGC had been the best of limited options. After a silent pause she released the emergency stop.

The doors opened on Bill's floor moments later. He smiled at her, a fully genuine one, and exited. But he stopped in the corridor and turned, one hand holding the door. "I don't have many regrets about… everything that happened. But if I were to have one it's that after I left I don't think you had many friends in there." He glanced at the floor briefly and visibly gathered his courage. He looked up and his expression was solemn. "None of us belonged there but you couldn't leave and I think… they used that, they used us but… well, anyway." He ran out of words and stepped back.

Sam thought she understood though. He'd asked her time and again why she wouldn't help them – him – when she damn well knew the facility's purpose. Despite his years at the SGC he hadn't grasped that it wasn't a matter of _wouldn't_, it was a matter of _couldn't_.

The tug-of-war between duty and conscience.

The dilemma between personal morals and ethics versus the justification of it being _orders_.

"You deserve better than this, Sam."

She looked up to see the door closing on his small, sad smile. "So do you," she blurted before they closed completely. Sam just didn't think she could help him when she had yet to figure out how to help herself.

--

Teal'c paused and considered his quarry's likely location. Samantha Carter had appeared very much in need of escape. With that in mind and the knowledge that she had not been in this facility for two years he headed towards the surface.

He had been both shocked and pleased when O'Neill had contacted him. He had not expected all of his friends would survive their country's war. O'Neill had seemed the most likely to succumb to the vagaries of combat and Daniel Jackson the most protected.

Though they had all survived they were not well. Something fundamental had been sundered from each of them. He recognized it in O'Neill's cheerful avoidance of discussing the war; he heard it in the flinty tone of Daniel Jackson's voice which was reflected in his eyes; he saw it in Samantha Carter's inability to face them.

Teal'c allowed himself a brief moment to wonder if things might have been different had he stayed. But he dismissed the thought almost immediately. He was not so full of his self-importance to believe he could have altered events set in motion by things far bigger than all of them. He had left because there was no place for him on Earth outside of Stargate Command and certainly no place in a war the politics of which he did not understand.

It often baffled him that, for five years, the Taur'i had successfully explored the galaxy and brokered trade with other peoples and races when they appeared utterly incapable of existing together peacefully.

The elevator finally arrived after what seemed an inordinately long wait. The car ascended rapidly. He mulled over what he might say once he located Samantha Carter. He would not have made a difference before but he knew with certainty that he could now.

--


	9. Chapter 9

After about 9 months I'm writing again. Wee! I fully intend to finish this fic in a timely manner. Apologies for disappearing. Enjoy! (Oh, and the site has removed characters used for scene breaks _again _so most of my stuff is incomprehensible. My website is still available, though.)

* * *

Sam tapped her cigarette pack against her hand and swore softly. Empty. She crumpled the foil and paper and squeezed the resulting ball tightly until the sharp corners of the folds pressed into her palm.

She felt him before she heard him and exhaled. If she'd been given the choice she would have picked Teal'c to be the one to follow her. Things were always easier with him. "Hey, Teal'c."

He stepped closer until he stood beside her, his eyes directed towards the trees beyond the chain-link fence. He inclined his head in greeting and clasped his hands behind his back. They both held their silence for a long stretch of moments as if weighing what they might say to each other.

"I have missed you."

Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn't what she'd expected to hear and suddenly she had to blink back tears. "Me too," Sam said. She turned her head and found his eyes already on her face, gentle and _knowing._

Teal'c tilted his head and his gaze sharpened as if he sought confirmation of what he already knew. "You are deeply troubled."

Sam swallowed down the lump in her throat. Or tried to. It escaped in a gasped sound that skirted the line between sob and laugh. There was no point denying it to him; Teal'c always saw and understood more than he let on because he watched and listened without judgment. He just _knew_ and he hadn't been here so there was a distance from the war with him, something she didn't have with Daniel or General O'Neill. That made it easier.

"I can't… I…" She floundered as she sought words she hadn't been able to find for more than a year. It was easier still if she didn't have to look at him so she fixed her gaze back on the trees "I can't figure out when I turned into… someone I don't like very much. And I don't know how… if… I can go back."

Teal'c nodded, she saw it in her peripheral vision. He drew in a deep breath, she watched his chest expand, and held it for a moment before he spoke. "You have done things you did not agree with."

"Yes."

"That you regret so profoundly they haunt you," Teal'c said. His voice had dropped, weighed down by sorrow and painful experience. Because he knew.

Sam clenched her jaw and nodded in a sharp jerk. But she forced it past her lips because she owed it to herself to breathe life into the word, to make it real, and maybe then she could begin to reconcile herself to it. "Yes."

"And now you fear that these acts define you, that you have become the evil you fought."

"Yes." She spoke on an exhale but knew Teal'c heard her.

He shifted closer, reached out, and lifted her dipped chin with one gentle but firm finger. "Samantha Carter," he paused and smiled, "the person you fear you have become would feel no regret, no remorse, no shame. You are the same woman I have always known. That is why it hurts." He dropped his hand and touched her chest briefly where he surely felt her heart pounding against her ribs.

Sam stepped into him and he hugged her tightly. The tears she had battled for so long finally spilled. But she had always been able to cry in front of Teal'c so she simply pressed her face into the solid bulk of his shoulder and let go.

SGCSGC

Jack opened the top personnel folder then let it drop closed. Gate virgins. A whole bunch of them that he had to figure out how to integrate without getting them or anyone else killed. But not today. He pushed the folders to one side and glanced back up at the open door.

Today he had to talk to his old team. He hadn't planned on dealing with all three of them in one day but here they were and he'd already struck out twice. He'd always counted on Carter being the easy one, the given… except she still wasn't back.

Teal'c had chased after her – or so Jack figured. Daniel had left and still the minutes ticked by. He'd almost gone looking himself but with Teal'c already on it and, unless Jack missed his guess, Daniel likely to seek her out just to say goodbye, he figured it was smarter to wait.

And wait.

And _wait._

What Daniel had said chased itself around in his head.

_I really think you should go find Sam. She's different._

Jack snorted. Of course she was, they all were. But as the minute hand advanced one more tick on the clock he started to wonder. Keeping her CO waiting wasn't a very Carter-y thing to do.

"Sir?"

Jack jerked his head up and half-stood in surprise. "Carter!" He waved her in and towards one of the chairs opposite his desk. He eyed her as she sat, her reddened eyes and the firm line of her mouth. "Teal'c find you?"

"Yes, sir."

Jack nodded and leaned back. He'd only gotten a few seconds to process her presence before she'd retreated from the briefing room; this was what had motivated Daniel's statement.

"So, how have you been?"

An expression flickered across Carter's face before she dropped her eyes. "General, can we get to the point? Please?"

His eyebrow edged up at her forthrightness but he nodded. "Right. No small talk. Your old lab is ready and waiting for you. If you want back on a field team I have more than enough openings…"

"No, sir."

"…and we…" He trailed off and looked up at her shaking head. His forehead creased. "No sir?"

Carter reached inside her jacket and pulled out an envelope. She slid it across his desk with one finger and caught his gaze. "No, sir," she said again, as if wanting to ensure he heard her.

Jack licked his lip and eyed the envelope. He picked it up warily, the same feeling he'd had while talking to Teal'c and Daniel brewing in his gut. When Carter's resignation slid into his hand he closed his eyes, just for a second. And then realized it was pre-typed, already signed. "If you knew you were going to resign why did you even come?"

"I didn't know."

He turned the letter around. "It's already _signed_, Carter!" He didn't know why he was angry.

"Yes, sir. I wrote it on the plane."

"Well?" He waved a hand as his eyes demanded an answer.

Carter barely moved, just held his gaze and raised her chin slightly. "I don't have to justify it to you."

"Well then I don't accept it." He slapped it facedown onto the desk and glared at her.

Carter remained impassive, her mouth that same hard line of… something. "You can't not accept it, General."

"The hell I can't." He hadn't been able to stop Daniel from leaving or say anything to change Teal'c's mind but Carter, Carter he could do something about. "I'm not going to just let you run away because you made some weapons and now you can't deal with it."

Her eyes flickered to the side and in a millisecond she deduced how he knew about her assignment. And then – Jack hadn't thought it was possible – her expression hardened and blanked even more. Her eyes remained steady on his, though, hard and flinty and angry. He watched her jaw clench once before she opened her mouth and spoke deliberately. "That you think it's that simple, sir," she paused briefly over the honorarium, "means you don't understand – at all." She firmed her jaw, part defiance, part challenge.

He swallowed his immediate response, quashed the impulse, and really looked at her. Wound tight, brittle, and hard because it was the only way to keep it all together. He knew how that felt. They stared at each other, their breaths and an imaginary tick of a clock the only sounds in the room. And quietly, privately, he added her name to that list of casualties.

Jack sighed and dropped his eyes. He noticed she didn't alter her posture as if bracing against an argument for her to stay. He fiddled with the personnel files, pushed them this way and that while he thought furiously about what he should say next. Carter's own file came into his mind's eye and he remembered the weapons program he'd lobbied for, fought for as fiercely as he had any battle, and the papers he'd signed that had likely sealed her orders, her fate.

It occurred to him then that maybe what Carter needed was someone to blame. A tangible target for the outrage and fury he saw in her eyes. It wouldn't fix everything – anything – but it just might allow her to move past this. To live a life. Jack could do that for her, be that guy, because the responsibility was all but his anyway. He could give her this and maybe, just maybe, it would serve as penance for everything he hadn't done since the war started.

So he looked up, met her eyes, and said the one thing he knew she wasn't expecting: "I'm sorry."


	10. Chapter 10

This chapter gave me indigestion. Seriously, I wanted to strangle it. That's why it took so long. I have to thank samfan9 for helping me see what was missing.

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"What?" Sam felt her whole body shudder with the release of tension and nervous energy she'd felt building the closer this conversation drew. She hadn't expected an _apology_. More angry yelling, more wilful blindness on the General's part, anything but an apology. And for what?

She narrowed her eyes and studied him, tried to read a face that used to be familiar and known. Every expression and twitch had once meant something to her but now his visage was that of a stranger's, closed off and blank – she imagined hers looked the same way to him. "What do you have to apologize for?"

He fiddled with his files again and found a pen from somewhere that he twirled in his fingers. _This _was familiar; the nervous man who wasn't comfortable with anything resembling a sensitive chat, who stalled, who spoke in fits and starts. But as she watched his nervous fidgeting stilled as he made the decision to continue and physically straightened.

The General met her eyes deliberately, and the intensity in his gaze brought that nervous tension cascading back. "Didn't you ever wonder who started pushing for a naquadah weapons program? Didn't you think it was odd that you worked on garden variety munitions for almost six months and then suddenly it was all naquadah?"

"I… I'm not sure… what…" Sam stumbled to a halt and stared. Blindsided. "I don't know what you're saying…" But she did, some part of her did, because her mouth had gone dry and her hands had curled into fists. She knew exactly what he was implying but apparently couldn't articulate and it nauseated her.

"Come on Carter, you're smart, _figure it out_." His voice turned angry again as he leaned slightly across the desk. There was a note of something else that she couldn't quite place and didn't have the energy to dissect.

"It was you? You pushed for the program?"

He nodded and that confirmation froze all thought. She'd never considered _who _started the program. Someone from the SGC, the Pentagon, the Joint Chiefs, the President himself. The possibilities had been numerous. But Jack O'Neill?

She swallowed down a lump in her throat and stared at him. He was the same man who'd led SG-1, who'd shown her how to lead and command, who'd gotten them through situations beyond comprehension. And yet…

And yet she couldn't help feeling, somehow, betrayed.

He hadn't said anything else, just leaned back in his chair, shoulders relaxed, and his expression reflected a mild attitude of waiting. Waiting for her to react. But she didn't know what she was supposed to feel, say, or do. Except… "Why?"

"Because it was something we had and they didn't. Because it would help us win." He shifted closer to the desk and leaned his arms on the edge. "Because as a military officer it was my job to ensure we used everything at our disposal. And I won't apologize for that."

"Then what…" Sam cleared her throat when her voice cracked. "What _are _you apologizing for? If not the program?"

He tilted his head back and his eyes shifted down and away for a second. When he spoke he kept his gaze on the blotter on his desk. "That it was you. It wasn't supposed to be you."

Somehow, for some reason, that knocked her from her stupor. She blinked; her brow furled. "What?" She barely heard herself so she said it again and only realized she'd yelled and stood all at once when she felt his desk under her palms. "What the hell does that mean?" She slapped the top of the desk, uncaring of the papers that fluttered to the floor, and glared into his eyes.

"Carter-"

"No! Just–" she flung up a hand, "be quiet!" She turned on her heel then whirled back, one finger extended and aimed at his chest. "So, what? It would be okay for someone else to have led the program, for someone else to be feeling like this, but because it's me somehow it's not okay? I'm different? I'm _special_? Because you know me?" She drew in a breath and held it, counted the rapid tattoo of her heart, conscious of how close she was to hyperventilating. The beach and Mark flashed into her memory but she shoved it away.

"_Yes_!" He shot to his feet. The desk chair bounced off the cabinets against the wall. "So I wanted to protect someone I know, what's wrong with that?"

"_Protect_?" She closed on his desk rapidly. "Bullshit. You weren't protecting anyone. I bet I never even crossed your mind until I walked through your door. Did I?" She paused and in that instant read in his expression that she'd nailed him. "You're just wishing it hadn't been me because then you wouldn't have to face up to it. Like every other decision we make in war you'd never have to see the result. Well, General, meet the consequence of your decision."

She turned away from him, pulled her hands through her hair, and left her fingers locked behind her neck. She remained rigid and furious, just focused on breathing slow deep breaths, and fought the urge to turn around and smack him. When her heart had calmed she dropped her arms and started moving. Pacing. Short digging strides from one wall to the other. She deliberately didn't look at him, ignored his existence, because she needed time and space to figure out how she felt and _the office was too damn small_. And then she remembered the elevator and Bill Lee and knew exactly what she needed to ask. "You… do you know what you turned us into?"

SGCSGC

Jack watched her erratic pacing. She was bouncing from one place to another completely oblivious to his presence. Even though she was as close to falling apart as he'd ever seen he just watched. He'd started this with the intention of letting her get it off her chest – whatever _it _was – which meant he had to give her the time to respond. To process. Even if it felt like a fist was squeezing his chest.

Mostly he watched her face. As the conversation went on and full realization dawned on Carter her expression had loosened. She'd lost control of it, perhaps in favour of keeping control of everything else. But now he could read what she was thinking and feeling – not as well as he once had – and one thing was clear: whatever was going on in her head was as chaotic as what he was seeing.

Slowly, incrementally, she stilled like she'd finally settled on one thing to say. She turned to him and he thought her eyes looked more bloodshot than when she'd entered. "You… do you know what you turned us into?"

"You were scientists, Carter. You were all just scientists and that's what you still are."

"No!" Her voice rose sharply and crackled. "We're not _just_ anything, anymore. We're responsible for everyone those bombs killed."

Jack scoffed. Softly, low in his throat, completely without thought. Just a reaction to a wildly outrageous statement. But Carter heard it; she froze on the spot and turned towards him rigidly. Her eyes snapped fire at him, her interpretation of the sound formed even as she asked, "What did that mean?"

For the first time she didn't just sound furious, she sounded betrayed. Wounded. Dismissed. He'd never regretted a single sound more in his life.

SGCSGC

She decided in that moment, with that single vocalization, that she could handle him being angry that she didn't want to stay at the SGC. She could handle him acting like the war hadn't happened. But she could not – _would not_ – handle him so cavalierly, so easily dismissing how she felt. Brushing it off like it was nothing. Like her experiences somehow weren't valid.

Sam stepped closer to him when he ignored her question. She wanted an answer and she wanted to see his face. "Well?" She heard ice in the word.

His lips twisted in thought and his head dropped. "Fine." He nodded to himself. "Fine, Carter, let's really talk about it." He took one step towards her. "If you want to take on all the guilt for every person who died, you do that. Go ahead, knock yourself out! But don't expect me to take responsibility for that guilt just because you're into self-flagellation. You're a _scientist_. You made some bombs. You didn't kill anyone. You think the people who manufacture guns feel responsible for every person who gets shot?"

She kicked the desk because she couldn't hit him. "It's not the same thing!"

"The hell it isn't! Weapons are weapons. The people who build them aren't responsible for what's done with them."

"Stop being so obtuse!" She raised an arm and flung it to the side instead of into his chest. "We built something that no one else on the _planet_ was capable of. That makes us responsible," a thumb against her own chest, "because without us, you," she made contact this time, jabbed a finger into him, "never would have dropped those bombs and those people never would have died!"

Sam whirled away from him and her hands returned to her neck. Her pulse throbbed against her skin. She closed her eyes and remembered the reports she'd had to read about the efficacy of the bombs. Even though they'd been crafted to be non-specific – the _range _and _grade _of the _units _– only an idiot or someone incredibly naïve wouldn't have known what they were reading. And it'd been her job to make them _better_.

"Bombs aren't like guns," she said. She spoke with her back to him. "You don't aim and shoot and choose who you kill. You drop a high-yield explosive on a target area and pray to God that the only people you're slaughtering are enemy combatants. But they never are and those... _those_ are the people I'm taking onto my conscience. The innocent." She felt her heart hammering against her chest, her pulse racing at her neck, and this… was it even a conversation?… whatever it was, it was exhausting. Her anger was spent, at least for now, and she was ready for this to be over. She dropped into a chair and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

"That was my research." Her voice sounded raw to her own ears. "I fought to study naquadah. I built the first reactor. I told _you _everything you know about it, including what a naquadah bomb could do. If you're responsible for the program and _I'm _responsible for teaching you everything you needed to institute it, doesn't that make me culpable?" She dropped her hands from her eyes and looked at him. For what, she didn't know.

He'd apologized but… did it really mean anything to her? Had this accomplished anything? All she knew now was that she didn't expect him to understand because he couldn't, he hadn't been there, hadn't made the decisions and compromises she'd made. Her experiences were her own, the General's were his own, Daniel's were his own. None of them could really, truly comprehend where the other was at and it was all too raw and new to move past. Sam closed her eyes and dropped her head back. She just needed a minute to compose herself, to still the roiling emotion in her gut so she'd be able to leave without splintering.

The General hadn't moved yet, he was still just standing there. She hoped he wouldn't say anything else but she hoped he would. And didn't that define the last two years of her life? Torn, divided, confused. Pulled apart. A rustle of clothing signalled his return to his chair. It creaked as he sat. He remained silent.

When she felt certain that she could look at him without yelling or vomiting, without doing anything except calmly walking away, she raised her head and opened her eyes. He simply looked back at her from his desk, expression blank and composed once more. He tilted his head just a tiny bit in question, as if he feared what might spill forth if he opened his mouth. Perhaps he thought, like her, that they'd said more than enough. That they'd done enough damage.

Sam stood. "Don't hold onto my resignation hoping I'll change my mind." She turned for the door.

The General finally stirred. "This was your life, Carter."

She paused at the door and studied its surface. Suddenly the conversation was mundane and not rife with emotion and guilt and the switch made her head spin. She wouldn't turn around. She just needed out. "I'll find a new life."

"Are you leaving Colorado?"

She squeezed the doorknob and nodded once, a sharp jerk. "Yes. The… the Air Force uprooted me two years ago." She paused and measured her next words. "There's nothing here for me."

He shifted. Maybe he stood.

Sam pulled open the door but stopped halfway out at the definite sound of him taking a step. She hesitated but the thought of turning around stoked the anger. But she could wait a beat, two, three, in case he wanted to say goodbye.

"I… Carter." His tone dropped and softened – slightly – because there was a question in her name. One perhaps long unasked and unanswered. "I don't know what to…"

"You just say goodbye." She spoke the words into the hallway. "There's nothing else here." She stepped into the hallway. The door swung shut behind her, but not before she heard him.

"It was an honour to serve with you, Carter."

She walked away.


	11. Chapter 11

I don't think I ever thanked all you guys for still being here and reading after such a long disappearance. So thank you. Writers wouldn't be writers without readers. And thanks for all those wonderful reviews.

This chapter's short, but short's better than nothing. :-)

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Sam zipped her duffle bag and swept her gaze around the small hotel room. There were no errant possessions left out and forgotten – not that she'd brought much with her. She drew a deep breath, held it, and nodded in satisfaction as she exhaled. This felt right, _good_.

General O'Neill had taken her resignation and request that he not sit on it seriously. She'd signed all the forms to be out-processed, received her official separation date, and was on terminal leave starting tomorrow. In thirty days she would officially no longer be part of the Air Force. Sam felt certain the General had pushed it through since it had happened so fast, and at a time when everything in the Air Force was moving like molasses.

But not so fast that she felt rushed, pushed out of this part of her life before she squared everything away. She'd taken the time in Colorado Springs to finalize her affairs – bank accounts, belongings in storage – all of it either shut down or transferred to San Diego. California was the only place she could think to go. It put distance between her and Colorado, the SGC. Her brother's normal life and normal family were a strong draw, offering stability and the mundane concerns of everyday existence. She needed mundane. She needed to worry about doing the dishes and buying groceries instead of saving the planet and building bombs.

A light rap on the door broke Sam from her visual assessment of the room. She turned, duffle in hand, and opened the door. "Lieutenant."

Baker stepped backwards into the hallway. "Ma'am. We've received our new orders."

_Finally_. Sam pulled the door tight and headed for the checkout desk. She wondered if they would have been reassigned now anyway or if it was a ripple effect of her retirement. She wouldn't have been surprised if the trio slipped through the cracks in the chaos of post-war operations and were left assigned to an officer who no longer existed. Regardless, she was glad to be rid of them. While their familiar faces had provided marginal comfort during the war, now they were nothing more than potent reminders of everything she wanted to leave.

"That's good news, Lieutenant," Sam said. She dropped her key onto the desk and turned her attention to Baker. "Was there something else?" They'd spent a lot of time together. Sam knew the Lieutenant was debating saying something.

Baker finally made a decision. She gave a decisive nod. "Yes, ma'am." She bent and rifled through her bag. A low curse drifted from her lips and in the next instant she dumped her bag on its side.

Sam watched, for some reason marginally amused. She'd always thought that she made Baker nervous; she'd never been able to guess why, though. While Baker rummaged, Sam completed her checkout and asked for a cab.

"Ah!" Baker straightened, triumphant, and offered a worn notebook. "Here."

Sam took it hesitantly and thumbed the edge of the pages. "What is it?"

"My call log." Baker looked hesitant again. "Everyone who ever called you." She nodded at the book. "I wrote it down. I… didn't know if you'd want it. There's not really anything you can do with it but I figured I'd ask. So…" The Lieutenant trailed off and shrugged, looking as uncomfortable as Sam had ever seen.

She flipped through the pages. Her eyebrows crept up at the neat, careful lines of ink that listed date, name, number, and message. When she stopped flipping, the notebook stayed open and inexplicably a lump rose in her throat.

Major General George Hammond

_Just checking in._

Sam blinked and closed the book slowly. She rubbed the cover with her thumb and studied Baker who was studiously avoiding her gaze. Sam had known – eventually – exactly what role the Lieutenant had played. While Mark had been incensed at what he viewed as malicious isolation, Sam hadn't ever gathered the energy to be angry at this one, small thing that seemed almost insignificant in the grand scheme. Baker had been doing her duty, however distasteful it might be, just as Sam had. While she'd never blamed Baker, Sam had resented her circumstances, the cold calculation behind them, and the faceless individuals who'd made those decisions. And perhaps, by extension, she'd resented the woman who helped create those circumstances. Now, though, this one little book cast that time in a light that was not quite as lonely, and the Lieutenant in a light that was not quite as unfeeling.

"Thank you."

Baker blinked and her eyes flew up in startlement. "You… you're welcome, ma'am."

Sam mustered a smile and hefted her duffle. A cab had just pulled up in front of the hotel. She nodded at Baker, headed for the doors, but paused when Fisher and Kerry stood from the small sitting area by the entrance.

Fisher took one step ahead of Kerry and met her gaze. "Lieutenant Colonel Carter," he pronounced it with careful precision, "it was an honour and a privilege to serve with you." And then his eyes snapped over her shoulder as he and Kerry stiffened to attention and saluted in tandem.

Sam hesitated a moment, surprised by the tinge of affection she'd detected in his voice. They had certainly never been friends or even colleagues but apparently they'd been _something _because she suddenly felt like she just might miss them, despite the reminder they were. She dropped her duffle and returned the salute, a crisp and precise motion, likely the last one she would ever deliver.

When she looked out the window of the cab as it pulled away they were still standing at attention.

SGCSGC

"Wait, pull over here."

The cab driver dutifully pulled up to the curb and shifted into park. He glanced over his shoulder, grizzled and greyed eyebrows raised. "Thought you had a plane to catch?"

Sam was perfectly aware of that, and the time, and that she was incredibly early. The idea of loitering around the hotel, or a familiar coffee shop or restaurant to pass the time had been wholly unpalatable. The airport was hardly a comfortable place to idle away the hours but it was safe. Neutral. Devoid of memories, happy or otherwise.

But the sign had caught her eye, the storefront that was unassuming but hinted at a gentle character. Or perhaps she was simply personifying it because of the proprietor. Sam grabbed the handle and put one foot onto the pavement. "I have time. Wait for me?"

The cabbie grunted and nodded. He all but dismissed her and turned every bit of his attention to fiddling with the radio dial.

Sam exited fully onto the sidewalk and blinked through the gentle, misting rain. She studied the sign, _Jackson's Rare Books_, the confident and elegant swirls of the typeface somehow fitting Daniel. As she reached for the door she hesitated only briefly and wondered at her sudden need to talk to him. Perhaps it was the desire to say goodbye – a real one – or simply to feel like she had closure in everything.

The bell chimed.

SGCSGC


	12. Chapter 12

SGCSGC

Daniel rounded the shelf at the sound of the bell. He stopped, surprised that his patron was not a patron. It seemed old friends dropping by was becoming a common occurrence.

The dim grey light that penetrated the windows lent Sam's skin a pallid cast. But she seemed a degree calmer than she had at the mountain, somehow at ease.

"Hi," he said. He closed the distance between them and smiled.

Sam smiled and nodded slightly. Her eyes flickered around the store before they returned to his face. "Nice place."

"Thank you." He fell silent at the pang of déjà vu. Hadn't his conversation with Jack started much like this?

They stared at each other, uncomfortable and awkward, much like their ride in the elevator. Eventually Sam moved from the door and wandered down one aisle of books; she gave the titles a perfunctory scan. He watched and wondered what she was doing here. They'd barely scraped together a half-dozen words to say to each other at the SGC. After a two year absence he'd figured he'd have more to say – apparently not.

His better nature pricked him though, a nagging little voice that said talking to people had always been his strong suit. He'd always possessed the ability to make conversation. "Stopping by on your way to work?" His polite way of asking so many things because the taxi out front answered for her.

Sam had her hand on a book. She dragged her finger deliberately down the spine and he couldn't help wondering what she was thinking. She dropped her arms and turned towards him; her expression held determination and decievness, a look she'd often worn in the field. Apparently – hopefully – she'd decided to get on with why she was here. "No."

Daniel blinked and slowly, when it was clear she wasn't going to elaborate, his eyebrows crept up his forehead. "Did you… request a different assignment?" Certainly Jack would acquiesce if she had; he might kick up a stink but he'd do it. But would she ask? Before, Daniel would have said no. Sam had always been the consummate soldier who followed orders, went where and did what she was told. And she wasn't the type to leverage personal relationships to get her way, even if that was how it worked.

"No." She wandered back towards him, leaned against the edge of a bookcase, and crossed her arms. "I'm retiring."

"Really?" His voice rose at the end of the word and he wondered if his eyes _looked _like they were bugging out of his head. That was the last thing he'd expected her to say. "Why?"

Her lips quirked to the side. "I imagine for a lot of the reasons you're not going back." She met his gaze directly.

Daniel got the message. She didn't want to get into it and since he hadn't offered any of his own experiences he had no right to needle her about it. He caught the taxi out of the corner of his eye. "Are you headed to the airport?"

Sam nodded and he felt an odd sense of relief. And then guilt at his relief. He'd been on the verge of suggesting he make coffee and they sit instead of loitering in his entryway. But she had a plane to catch and his similar encounter with Jack had been a disaster. He didn't want to be accommodating and drag this out, not even with her.

Instead he did the polite thing and asked, "Where to?"

"San Diego."

"Ah." That made sense. But he couldn't quite imagine her out of the Air Force. "What are you going to do?"

Sam shrugged. Casual, almost, and it surprised him all over again. She'd never struck him as the type to be so fluid with her future. But he supposed she had bigger, more immediate things to worry about and deal with.

She turned her attention back onto him. "What about you? What are you going to do?"

Daniel shifted and found himself uncomfortable with her attention focused on him. "I'm leaving Colorado. The lease is up next month so I'll sell off as much stock as I can and take the rest with me." He shifted then turned and busied himself with tidying up the newspapers strewn across his counter.

As he worked he remembered the headlines and how he'd wondered every time casualties were reported if anyone he knew had fallen. His motions turned sharp and jerky but he clenched his teeth to keep from blurting out what had festered for two years. Maybe _that _was why they had nothing to say to each other – neither of them wanted to dredge up what they really felt. He shoved the papers off to one side and continued before she could prompt him. "I'd like to teach but I'm not sure how realistic that is." He forced it out, determined to keep the conversation superficial if only through force of will.

"Daniel?" Sam touched his shoulder lightly, her concern at his behaviour vivid in her voice. It snapped through his restraint.

He whirled and extended an accusatory finger. "You just _disappeared_! I didn't know what happened. Janet and Cassie didn't know what happened and they came to _me _because Jack was gone, Teal'c was gone, and we were just left to worry! Do you know what that was like, reading these headlines and wondering?" He swiped at the papers; they dropped to the floor.

Sam took a step backwards, her mouth slightly ajar. Apparently as stunned at the vehemence in his voice as he was. "I… Daniel I –" She stopped and just looked at him, only this time it was something other than awkward: pained, guilty.

Daniel firmed his jaw and stared back, fury on his face. "I think we deserved a little more consideration than that."

"I couldn't tell you, Daniel. I didn't have time. The… the Air Force just showed up, told me to pack a bag, and said everything else would be taken care of. And then…" Her voice choked and she looked away.

"And then? You didn't have a phone?" He crossed his arms and refused to care about the look on her face. He was tired of being the patient and conciliatory one who understood. He hadn't heard a word from either of them for two years and now, suddenly, he was supposed to just smile and nod when they showed up to make _themselves_ feel better?

"I… I thought about calling _so _many times but if I had I would have… I wouldn't…" Sam stuttered to a halt and shook her head. She turned and stared out the window.

The rain had turned from mist into a downpour that drummed against the windowpane. Black clouds were visible over the buildings across the street, and Daniel half expected to hear the crack of thunder.

"I should go," she said. He barely heard her. "This… I shouldn't have stopped." But despite her words she remained stationary, shoulders hunched and head dropped.

It made Daniel feel like an asshole. She'd looked better when she'd walked through his door, not the Sam of old but somewhat at ease. Because he'd decided to vent his issues he'd done more damage than good – to both of them. And she wasn't even to blame, not really; she was just an easy target. "Sam, I'm sorry."

She'd raised her hand to the window and traced the trails of water with her fingertips, gaze distant. After a heavy exhale she pressed her forehead to the glass and closed her eyes. "It hurts to be back here. It hurts to see all of you."

Daniel swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

Sam backed away from the window and turned half towards him. "I have a plane to catch."

He nodded. "Have a good flight."

She hesitated, bit her lip in indecision and then nodded just a bit. Decision made she exited without delay but paused again, there in the rain, and turned. She raised a hand and he read a single word clearly on her lips.

_Bye_.

Daniel watched as she slipped into the taxi. He moved to the window when it pulled from the curb; he followed the taillights with his eyes until they disappeared at the end of the street.

"Bye, Sam."

SGCSGC

Leanne Carter stepped over the scattering of construction paper, markers, and glue sticks on her way to answer the door. "Luke!" She called over her shoulder and spotted her son hovering in the hallway. "I told you to put your project in the car so we don't forget it tomorrow. If you leave it here it's going to get broken."

He sighed and dropped his shoulders. "Yes, mom." He trudged towards the elaborately decorated poster board.

"And then clean that mess up!" Leanne didn't hear his groan but she imagined it just fine. She smiled as she pulled open the door then blinked in surprise. "Sam?"

Her sister-in-law managed a smile in greeting. "Hi."

"Are you okay?" Leanne instantly took in Sam's bedraggled appearance and her constant, nervous shifting of her grip on her duffle and knew the answer was _no_. Mark hadn't said a lot about his trip with Sam, whether because he'd learned something he wasn't supposed to know or because he simply wanted to protect her privacy, Leanne didn't know; but he didn't need to say much, she read it in his eyes.

"I'm, ah… I…" Sam stumbled over the words and looked anywhere but at Leanne. She settled for shaking her head. "Can I just… stay… for awhile?" When she finally looked up Leanne got the distinct impression that Sam expected to be turned away.

"Of _course _you can." Leanne reached for Sam's bag then stepped aside and pulled the door open. She wouldn't have said no, no matter what the circumstances, but certainly not when Sam looked like she was one bad break away from crumbling. Leanne liked her sister-in-law, supported Mark's efforts to reconnect with her, and Sam had never asked them for anything.

Leanne ushered Sam down the hallway and waved off Luke when he rose to greet his aunt. He looked confused but understood and sunk back to the floor. She nudged open the door to the guest room and set the duffle on the bed. "You know where everything is so I'll…" she gestured towards the rest of the house, "go. Unless you want to talk?"

Sam stood next to bed as her eyes fluttered around the room, not staying on one object for too long. "No. Thank you."

"Mark got called into work unexpectedly. He should be home around five."

Sam nodded.

"Okay. If you need anything…" Leanne trailed off and backed out of the room. She watched for a moment, hand on the door, until Sam dropped onto the bed. Leanne closed the door gently and leaned against it, eyes closed.

SGCSGC


	13. Chapter 13

SGCSGC

**ONE MONTH LATER**

"Congratulations, Doctor Jackson."

Daniel smiled and shook the Dean's hand. "Thank you, Mister Carlyle."

"Oh, please," he waved a hand, "call me Don." He turned and slid a stack of papers into his hand. "You'll need to fill out these forms. We need them to officially enter you as faculty, get you a computing ID, issue a faculty pass – all that administrative stuff."

Daniel took the forms and flipped through them. He nodded. "All right."

"They're pretty standard." Don circled his desk and rifled through a drawer. "Shelia would like them by the end of next week since you're coming to us a bit late. It will make her life easier. The spring semester starts in three weeks. Ah!" He straightened, yet more paper held aloft in triumph. "Here they are." He stretched across the desk.

Daniel put the original stack of forms under his arm and accepted the new batch. "These are…"

"That top one is the official descriptions and curriculum requirements for the courses you're teaching. The rest are old syllabi. You'll also have to familiarize yourself with the code of conduct for both students and faculty and… well." Don paused and smiled. "I'm sure it's nothing you couldn't guess at. Academia is pretty static whether you're a student, teacher, or researcher."

"Okay, I can work with this." As Daniel flipped through the papers the vague nervousness he'd been feeling started to fade. He recognized most everything the syllabi talked about and had inferred a certain degree of latitude was available to him for his own lesson plans. He'd feared being out of his depth but the need to be employed had overridden any concerns. And if the college deemed him qualified, who was he to argue.

"Listen, Doctor Jackson–"

"Daniel, please." He looked up and realized Don had perched on the edge of his desk, a slightly hesitant expression on his face.

A smile flickered across the Dean's face as he nodded. "Daniel. Not to… overstep or make you reconsider."

Daniel's eyebrows crept up at the odd qualifying statement. "Yes?"

"I inferred from your curriculum vitae and our interview that teaching languages wasn't exactly what you wanted."

He dropped his eyes for a moment and studied the plush royal blue carpet. He thought he'd hidden his less than fervent enthusiasm at the prospect of teaching college students Russian, Latin, and French. He thought he'd shed his disappointment at the rebuffs he'd received from the archaeological community. Hadn't he expected just that outcome?

_Too long out of the field._

_No publishing credits in years. _

_Not up to date on current restoration and dig techniques. _

Plus his sneaking suspicion that he just might be on some government no-fly list. How he'd explain that if an institution ever wanted to send him out of the country he'd never know. And if he was right, and it happened, it would destroy whatever professional reputation he still had in the community. No, this was safer. Easier. And it wasn't exactly subjecting him to any hardship. A private college, money visible in the floors themselves – he'd live well, even if it wasn't his first passion.

"Daniel?"

He looked up and blinked away his thoughts. He mustered a smile to reassure Don and found that it was actually genuine. "Sorry. Just thinking." He drew in a deep breath and decided to be honest. "And you're right. Archaeology is my first love. But linguistics is a close second. I'm committed to this job."

Slowly, Don smiled. "Good. I thought that anyone who knows over twenty languages has to love the field." Daniel found himself chuckling and Don followed suit. "I've been looking for someone to fill out the department for awhile and you're perfect. We're very proud to have you and I hope you'll find everything you need here."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you again."

They shook hands once more, exchanged a few pleasantries, and Daniel left with his pile of paperwork. He wended through the hallways until he found the doors he'd entered at and stepped outside. The grounds were beautiful, the air crisp. He drew in a satisfied breath, affixed his sunglasses, and headed for his car.

He'd ended up in Oregon. Portland. He'd applied all over the country since he had no preference besides getting out of Colorado. And he'd ended up in Oregon. If the fact that it bordered California and was still reasonably close to Colorado had anything to do with his decision… well, it had been subconscious.

Daniel paused at the sight of a bench and detoured. He settled comfortably and simply stared ahead. _Be honest with yourself_. The proximity to Sam, to his old life in the Springs, had been more than coincidence. When he'd started his job hunt he'd realized that, despite his feelings, the thought of cutting all ties and moving as far away as possible hadn't sat well with him. Maybe it was because the Stargate was in operation again and a feeling of residual responsibility from SG-1. That he needed to be close in case something happened. That they might need him.

He scoffed at his thoughts. _How self-important does that sound?_ Or maybe all it meant was that, despite everything that had and hadn't happened, friendships don't die easily. Even if that's what he wanted – although he'd begun to doubt his feelings.

With a sigh, Daniel reaffirmed his grip on his paperwork and stood.

SGCSGC

Mark poured his coffee and sidestepped his children as they swarmed through the kitchen to make their cereal. He settled at the table across from Sam; she didn't so much as glance up from her pad of paper so he indulged himself in a long look.

The black circles under her eyes had disappeared, though it had taken some time. During the first two weeks of her stay he'd often heard her up and moving around at three or four in the morning. By the afternoon she looked like a zombie and he got tired just watching her try to function. He hadn't been satisfied with her explanation.

_I just can't sleep… can't stop thinking_.

But the more he probed the shorter she got with him. Mark finally – with Leanne's help – resigned himself to the realization that he couldn't help Sam with everything, he couldn't magically make it better despite how much he wanted to. That she needed the time and space to work through some of her problems herself.

He'd backed off but watched. Eventually, to his surprise but not Leanne's, Sam started sleeping. Even sleeping _in _to his shock. She'd lost the circles and bloodshot eyes, the perpetual look of exhaustion, last week. It seemed her zombie days were behind her. She still smoked, still indulged in more drinking than he liked, but it seemed she was making slow and measured progress.

Mark was more worried about what she _wasn't _doing than what she was. She hadn't talked about jobs or mentioned moving out. Not that he or Leanne minded having her here; she was quiet, helped out, in fact they barely noticed her. But Sam liked her space and privacy. That she'd lived in a house – not small, but not large – with four other people for a month without acting restless or cornered or… _bothered_ rang a small alarm in his head.

As far as he knew she wasn't sticking to her exercise regimen, which had been a staple of her routine ever since she set her eyes on NASA. She hadn't shown enthusiasm for anything except the kids and barely managed muted interest for everything else. She'd do anything they asked – pick up the kids, get groceries – but had no initiative. It worried him. It was so _un_-Sam. Like she was waiting, or stuck, or… _lost_.

He stopped and ran through that thought again. Yes, lost. That fit; it made so much sense it hurt. She'd given up the career that had been her life, left behind friends, was living with only a few of her belongings, and had taken on the guilt of a war. His forehead crinkled. Lost, or depressed? Or both? Mark looked at her again and really examined her behaviour of the last month. Depressed fit, too.

"If you stare any harder," Sam said, "you're going to burst something." She raised her eyes and the flash of humour and teasing in him – brief, but there – made him chuckle.

"I was just thinking."

She turned her gaze back to her pad, a strange quirk to her lips. "No kidding."

Mark smiled in sheer response. He had no idea what amused her about the exchange but was happy to see a bit of spark in her. After he grabbed his mug he leaned back and contemplated what to say. He could tell that he still had her attention and she'd been reticent to just sit and talk. Probably because of his early prodding. He searched for a safe topic and then found it in her hands.

"Are you ever going to show me what's in that?" When Sam looked up in question he jutted his chin towards the pad. It had been her constant companion since their little getaway but she always closed it when anyone got near her.

Sam drew a few more lines and made a couple notations before she set it on the table, face up, cover open. "Just… ideas."

Mark set his mug down and scooted his chair around the table. He studied the page, the rough sketch and lines of equations all but meaningless to him. He'd never been a math person and the kind of math Sam did made his head hurt. This was almost the last page and he remembered she'd been at the beginning during their trip. He raised a hand, glanced at her for permission, then thumbed through the pad. Every page held something different – the drawings told him that much. "That's a lot of ideas."

She nodded, a distracted look on her face. She twirled her pen absently through her fingers and it struck him as a nervous gesture.

"Hey." He said it softly, just to attract her attention.

"Hmm?" The pen stilled.

"What kind of ideas?" He felt like he was onto something important.

Sam reached for the pad and pulled it towards her. She didn't close it, though, just flipped through it. "Things… projects that would…" Her lips pursed. She glanced at him, almost sheepish.

Mark closed the distance between them and caught her free hand. This hesitation did not have its roots in guilt. It felt and sounded so different from what she expressed when talking about the war. He almost thought she sounded embarrassed. "What? Come on, Sam. If you're interested in this, I want to know."

She looked away and closed the pad. "They're just things that could help people." Her eyes dropped and he realized that she thought it sounded dumb.

"What's stopping you?"

"What?"

"If you have ideas why don't you do something about it?"

"I can't –" Sam cut herself off and shook her head.

Realization struck. Mark cleared his throat. "Are they, um… military ideas?" She hadn't been protective of the pad because she didn't want people to read it. Certainly no one in this house had a hope in hell of deciphering it. She'd been protective because it used information from her job. Classified information.

Sam's eyes crinkled in thought. "Not really… sort of. It's complicated, Mark. I can't talk about it."

He straightened and looked between his sister and the work she'd been obsessing over. "Okay. But… this is the only thing you've been interested in for a month. It's obviously important to you. Aren't there places you could work on this kind of thing?" She glared the way only a sibling could. He forged on, unperturbed. "What I mean is, doesn't the military contract some of this stuff out? There must be companies already working with this information that would kill to have you."

Sam's expression stilled and her eyes went distant in thought. When her gaze flicked back to his he thought he detected a kernel of excitement. "Maybe."

SGCSGC


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: If the individual with the screen name of **The Shinster **(on this site) is reading, I got your PM regarding The Way. I'd love to respond but you've disabled Private Messaging and there's no e-mail address in your profile. If you'd like that reply, please contact me again with either an email address or to let me know you've turned PM on.

* * *

SGCSGC

**THREE WEEKS LATER**

Jack signed the bottom of the page and pushed it across to Colonel Mason. He promptly opened another sheaf of papers and tapped the signature field. Jack only barely restrained his sigh and scribbled a facsimile of his name.

Mason apparently had the hearing of a bat because he raised his eyebrows. "Sir?"

Jack shoved the papers back and idly fiddled with his pen. He eyed Mason and considered if he really wanted to answer that question. His XO was approachable enough, pleasant, open… but he wasn't Carter, Daniel, or Teal'c. He wasn't a friend, just a colleague, and Jack was painfully aware of his position as base commander. He was _The General _now and that came with expectations, unspoken rules, expectations of decorum and propriety. Even though Jack had never bothered with those things before he couldn't help acknowledging that dumping his issues and doubts on his staff not only wasn't appropriate, it could be dangerous.

For every crisis the SGC had weathered under General Hammond, for every near miss and close call SG-1 had experienced, Hammond had never let on how he'd felt. He'd remained the calm, confident, assured commander whose mere poise and faith in his people had buoyed spirits and determination around the base.

Jack had no idea how Hammond had done it. Almost two months into his command and he felt utterly depleted. Worn down by the worry when a team didn't return on time, stressed over the approval of every mission that didn't seem quite right but that he had no real reason to scrub, hopelessly guilty whenever someone got hurt. He'd led people into battle before. He'd led Daniel, Teal'c, and Carter straight into death, into hell, but he'd never felt quite like this. Because all those other times had been orders; though getting them home safe rested squarely on his shoulders, the fact that they were in that situation at all hadn't been his responsibility.

"General O'Neill?" Mason remained in his chair. The question had morphed into concern and the lack of dismissal kept him seated.

Jack leaned back and allowed a full sigh to pass his lips. He dropped his pen and clasped his hands over his stomach. He realized how reminiscent it was of General Hammond's mannerisms only once he'd assumed the position. "What did you do during the war, Colonel?"

Mason shifted and Jack recognized it as the quick assessment of what he could say, wanted to say, and what Jack was cleared to know. "I commanded a wing."

He'd know that much – and more – from Mason's file. But his service history wasn't really what Jack wanted to talk about. He nodded in acknowledgment and dropped his eyes to his fingernails. "How many people did you lose?" He glanced up, aware his question would be touchy for anyone. No one liked losing people, and no one liked talking about it.

Colonel Mason's expression flickered through several emotions before it settled on forced detachment. "Too many." He looked away this time and slowly licked his upper lip in thought. "Even one is one too many." His eyes scanned over Jack's face quickly, as if Mason was trying to judge if he should keep talking. Apparently he decided he should. "And even when we do everything right it's sometimes still unavoidable."

He'd heard this speech, he'd _given _this speech to officers under his command. It was what he'd expected Mason to say and while hearing it reaffirmed what he'd been telling himself to get through the day – and nights – it didn't fix shit. "And sometimes it's nothing but senseless." It passed his lips before the words even formed in his mind.

Mason's mouth slid open in automatic response but then his entire body tensed. Like he'd abruptly reconsidered the wisdom of voicing his response. He remained stiff and Jack almost laughed at the expression; Mason didn't know him well enough to realize Jack didn't stand on ceremony and understood knee-jerk reactions better than most. At his slight nod Mason relaxed – marginally – and spoke, "I was… under the impression that you backed the war, sir, and everything it stood for." It came out precisely phrased, carefully avoiding Mason's own opinions.

Jack's expression contorted; his eyebrows drew together at the memory that flashed in his mind. "I did. I _do_. I support this country's right to defend itself in whatever way necessary. I accept that when you're on foreign soil, holding a position, taking a position, people die." He was conscious, in that far off way, of his increased volume, that he'd leaned aggressively towards Mason, the desk and his ruined knee the only things that kept him seated. But he couldn't reign it in. "What I _don't _accept is some kid barely able to shave stepping in the wrong spot and getting blown to hell!"

He blew out a harsh breath and thumped back in his chair. One hand raised and rubbed at his temple, just over a persistent pound. He didn't know where that had come from. No, that wasn't true. The longer he'd spent back at the SGC, exposed to the mission and purpose of the command – protecting the plant – the more he'd thought about the war. About the dead, the disfigured, the innocent. Everyone who died at the SGC did so for a reason; a clear and defined purpose that was greater than them and _worth it_. By his estimation, they were lucky if one in five who'd died during the war had been _worth it_. And those numbers were crap.

"I think I've lost my taste for this," Jack said softly. He looked up at Mason who thankfully appeared collected and relaxed. He understood now what Carter and Daniel had felt, that look they'd both had in their eyes. They'd both been as furious and indignant at the attack as him. Even Teal'c had felt it. Fighting back had been the only response. But every senseless death, every drop of innocent blood that got spilled in the fog of war had rubbed their souls raw until they couldn't accept it anymore, couldn't do it, couldn't be around it. Jack dragged his hand over his face and felt ancient beyond his years.

"You're dismissed, Colonel."

Mason popped to his feet. He snapped off a crisp salute, the return to procedure probably a relief. "Yes, sir." He swivelled on his heel but stopped at the door.

Jack noticed. "Yes?"

Mason's hand flexed, his fingers restless with indecision. "I just wanted to say that you're not alone, General." He caught Jack's eye, nodded once, and then slipped into the corridor.

Jack tilted his head back, weary at the thought of the entire afternoon. He turned and looked at the pictures on the credenza behind him. SG-1 in the early days, Carter a newly minted Major. Despite what Mason said there was a chasm between him and the rest of the base that made him very much alone. And in true Jack O'Neill fashion he'd alienated the few people he could truly talk to.

SGCSGC

Sam stared at the buttons on the handset and then at the phone number. Her thumb hovered over the first digit for a long series of heartbeats. Her eyes slipped closed; her hand fisted on the phone before she dropped it onto the table in disgust.

"Something wrong?"

She jolted at his voice and looked over her shoulder. Mark stood in the patio doorway; the lights from the house backlit him and obscured his features. "No," she said. Sam returned her gaze to the backyard, bathed in twilight.

Mark slid the door closed and settled in the chair opposite her. His eyes swept the table then lifted to her face. "Still haven't managed to dial?"

She pushed down the slight surge of irritation at his intrusion. He genuinely wanted to help and more surprisingly, he _had_. Knowing he was around, that he'd sit and listen and ask just the right questions – usually – had soothed so many raw edges. That he'd persisted when she'd all but ignored him had reminded her that she wasn't alone in the world, that she couldn't just drift off into nothing and nowhere without it mattering. For awhile she'd been stunned by the realization, so different from her existence for almost two years. He'd pulled her from her funk.

Sam rested her head on the chair and looked at the sky. Only a few stars managed to show through the lights of suburbia, scattered and dim in the sky. But they still captured her attention and imagination.

"Sam?"

She looked at him briefly because she'd forgotten the question. Her eyes caught the items on the table and reminded her. She sighed and gathered her thoughts. "It's frustrating. I want to work. I want to do something… useful. And I know there are companies we –" Sam stumbled over it, a brief white hot flash of pain in her chest, but she shook it off because she'd _chosen_ to leave and damn it, it shouldn't hurt this much. "That the _military _contracted out to in the past. I know all I have to do is call General Hammond and he'll give me names."

"But?"

She rolled her head to the side and met his eyes. She could do that now, look at him and not feel like she should see condemnation. "But when I think about going back to that kind of work – the labs, the people, the projects – even though it's not military, not weapons, it… it makes me want to drink." The last bit came out slowly, her eyes on the bottle that sat at the far end of the table.

Mark had seen it. Mark who had challenged her drinking, who'd all but called her an alcoholic. But he hadn't because he hadn't been around her enough to know, at least not then. He hadn't said anything since she'd moved in with them, but then Sam had been careful about it. She didn't drink around the kids, didn't let them see her stumble off to bed. And that very consideration on her part, that careful modulation of her behaviour so as to not tip him off had convinced her. She wasn't a fall down, black out drunk, but alcohol had become her companion, her go to when things weren't quite right. Mark hadn't said it, but she'd thought it about herself.

She was an alcoholic, and she needed help.

"Stay right here." He squeezed her shoulder as he passed.

Sam blinked and turned to watch him. Her brow furrowed and only as he stepped back onto the patio did she realize she'd spoken that aloud. As he sat beside her, a clump of papers and brochures in his hand, something loosened in her chest.

"I've been doing some research."

SGCSGC

Daniel slid the four textbooks onto the single semi-clear corner of his desk. He lunged forward when a stack of papers teetered backwards and caught them, barely. "Okay." After some creative one-handed manoeuvring he stabilized the stack and stepped backwards. "What a mess."

Spring semester started three days ago and his office looked like a total disaster. He'd decided it was the accelerated nature of the term. At least, he _hoped _that was the reason and his office wouldn't always look like this.

"Doctor Jackson?" A knock accompanied the voice.

He turned, half expecting it was a student, and reached for the half open door. "Office hours aren't– oh! Cynthia."

Cynthia Pearson smiled. "Are we still on for coffee?"

Daniel blinked and ran through his schedule in his head. "Coffee… was that today?"

She chuckled and nodded. "Yes."

"Okay." He glanced at his desk and decided the thought of not dealing with it right that moment was incredibly appealing. "Okay, let's go." He grabbed his jacket and followed her into the hall.

"How are you settling in?"

"Uhh…" He had no idea. He felt like he'd barely managed to keep his head above water.

Apparently, Cynthia read all this and more in his stuttering. "Don't worry, it takes a couple weeks to find your legs but once you do things will be much smoother."

"Is that a promise?" He pushed open the door and squinted into the sun. The best coffee shop, according to the faculty, was directly across the quad. He'd managed only one trip so far since it was a decent eight minute walk, which meant grabbing something between back-to-back classes wasn't possible.

"Not a promise, just experience."

"Well, I hope you're right. I'm so scattered right now I feel like I'd misplace my head if it wasn't attached."

"Spring/summer is the worst time for new faculty to start. It's so hectic, even for old hands like us."

Daniel smiled and nodded. He liked Cynthia. She'd sort of taken him under her wing and acquainted him with the Languages department. He appreciated it more than she probably knew. Because she'd familiarized him with the campus, the administrative staff, and other faculty, he felt much more at ease than if he'd been left on his own. It had allowed him to focus totally on figuring out the curriculum and lesson plans.

"How are your classes going?"

"Well, I feel a bit sorry for my Latin students. It's complicated enough without a professor who's never taught it before."

"It's beginner, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You might be more comfortable with advanced students. That's when they start reading texts and focusing on translation."

Daniel nodded. He'd thought the same thing. His French and Russian classes were advanced which meant he didn't have to figure out how to teach foreign grammar and structure. He enjoyed those classes much more.

"Honestly, though, you'll probably always have a fair number of Latin classes."

"Oh?" He tilted his head towards her, interested to learn about the inner workings of the college.

Cynthia nodded. "Most of the professors who are qualified to teach Latin are actually in the department of History and Classics. Most of their time is taken up with those courses."

Daniel pulled open the coffee shop door and gestured her ahead of him. "That makes sense. I'm sure once I get some experience I'll get more comfortable."

"I have no doubt."

He followed her in and marvelled at how _normal _the entire exchange had been.

SGCSGC

Sam stopped at the curb and stared across the street at the building. The door stood propped open by a chair; a few people drifted in and out while more mingled on the lawn. "I don't know about this."

Mark stepped up beside her. He grabbed her fingers. "Why not?"

She scanned the people; their short haircuts and straight shoulders gave them away even if she hadn't known. "I don't think the military group was a good idea."

"It's still Alcoholics _Anonymous_, if that's what you're worried about. I checked this out before I suggested it. They don't expect you to disclose anything about your service, what branch you were in, nothing. They just work on the assumption that everyone who walks through their doors has military service as a frame of reference."

She turned away from the building. Her stomach felt unsettled; her palms felt slick with sweat. This was making her more nervous than facing down Jaffa ever had.

Mark tugged on her fingers. "We're here now, we might as well go in and listen. That can't hurt, right?" He ducked his head to catch her eye. "Right?"

"Right." Sam nodded. Sitting and listening felt totally innocent. No one would force her to speak if she didn't want to. She swallowed with difficultly.

Mark circled in front of her and held her shoulders. "Listen, I'm not going to force you to do this. Whatever you do, whatever you decide, I'm with you. But I really think this is the best option. Even though your experiences are your own these people have the best chance of understanding what you went through. What it's like to do something you don't agree with because it's duty." He paused and studied her face. "You decided to be here, Sam, you asked for my help. This is the only way I know how to do that, and I can't help thinking that if you walk away now, you won't come back."

Sam closed her eyes and drew several deep, measured breaths into her lungs. Her heart settled and she nodded. He was right. She couldn't avoid this, couldn't hide from it. It needed to be faced head on. With courage. She opened her eyes. "Okay."

He smiled. "Okay."

Together, hands clasped, they turned and walked across the street.

SGCSGC


End file.
